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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27062629">Ocean lungs, Earthen heart touched by Summer sea winds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quin/pseuds/Quin'>Quin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arranged Marriage, Background Merpeople, Happy Ending, Minor female original character - Freeform, Multi, Polyamory, Royalty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:33:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27062629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quin/pseuds/Quin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A man without identity far away from the shore. A grieving king in a castle on a cliff. A newly-wed treading on uncertain territory.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>King Who Thought He Was Widowed/His New Husband/His First Husband, Original Male Character/Original Male Character/Original Male/Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fic In A Box</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ocean lungs, Earthen heart touched by Summer sea winds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts">The_Plaid_Slytherin</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to elijah_was_a_prophet for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I</p><p>It was time to return to Arata, time to face the world and take up his duties as the ruler of Zudonia. However, Tristan found himself locked on the spot, standing on the top step of the north tower facing the Endless Sea, watching. Wave after wave of dark water crashed against the cliffs on which Zudonia Castle stood. It was the power of the winds and the tides that protected the kingdom against its enemies, but it also had been the winds and the tides that had taken the most precious person from King Tristan: Olan. </p><p>He could remember it like it had been yesterday, though it was exactly a year, four months, two weeks and five days ago. The guilt still was eating Tristan up, giving him restless nights with little sleep and if sleep came, it was filled with nightmares.</p><p>Back then, Olan’s face had lit up, his brown eyes sparkling mischievously as he promised Tristan he would get a surprise for his most beloved husband. Only later, Tristan had realised where Olan had gone. </p><p>Ever since, Tristan had forbidden that anyone would sail for the Bastard Leaves Abyss. No one would eat the delicacies that exclusively grew in sea caverns enclosed in a labyrinth of deadly rocks again. </p><p>Sometimes Tristan imagined walking all the way down to the port, untying a small ship, setting out onto the ocean and searching for Olan all by himself. What a futile thought. Tristan had no real experience regarding naval matters, Olan had lovingly called him a landlubber. They had complemented each other, the king ruling the land and his councillor overseeing the sea.</p><p>Though even if Tristan possessed any maritime skills, it would have been irresponsible nonetheless to face the capricious waters alone or risk any of his men. His people needed their king for guidance. Times were uncertain when pirates raided the islands and alliances with neighbouring kingdoms were fickle when there was power and gold to gain. </p><p>And Tristan yet had to fulfil the one promise he had given to his chancellor. Frederick, the Earl of Onowin Island lightened Tristan’s workload a lot while Tristan silently suffered, but Frederick could not produce an heir in Tristan’s stead. It was the role of the king to forge alliances with foreign royalty by marrying into another house and tying them together by producing offspring, as Frederick often tried to subtly remind him.  </p><p>Tristan convinced himself that he would lay with Arata, just not today when it was Olan’s name day. There was a part of Tristan that refused to believe that his true husband was dead. That he was not a widower. Having a second husband now hadn’t changed this lingering feeling that Olan was out there, waiting for him, needing him. Tristan swallowed hard as his thoughts drowned him further in his sadness. </p><p>Frederick kept telling Tristan that by not letting go of Olan, Tristan was unable to put the past behind him and unable to focus on Zudonia’s future. It was easy to say though when in truth words of advice didn’t heal the festering wound on Tristan’s soul, didn’t remove the heaviness in his limbs that made getting up every day difficult and threatened to suffocate him whenever Tristan was reminded of Olan. Which seemed to be everywhere as Zudonia Castle had been Olan’s home for five years.</p><p>For a moment, the sound of footsteps on the tower’s stairs interrupted Tristan’s revolving thoughts. Probably, Frederick trying to get him back to reality. Just one more minute to scan the Endless Sea for a sign of Olan, just one more minute, Tristan told himself, ignoring his visitor.</p><p>II</p><p>There was no sign that King Tristan noticed his presence. Arata didn’t know whether this was a positive thing or not. They were married for about three months now, but during this time Arata had hardly spoken to his new husband at all. </p><p>Politically seen, it was a good match. Arata was the younger son of King Caderyn of Tesperia, a kingdom located south of Zudonia. Zudonia and Tesperia being allies meant that together they held strategic access points, mountain passes, forts, sea harbours, and their combined armies were a force to be recognized. </p><p>Arata’s father had been pleased with finally arranging a marriage for Arata as in King Caderyn’s words ‘Twenty-seven was an age where I already had my second spouse and four children to present.’</p><p>Arata, of course, was aware, that his feelings didn’t play any role, that he had to consider the greater good of the ties that bound him to King Tristan. Still, he had imagined the start of this marriage to be different.</p><p>Impersonal, yes, with conversations about state of affairs only, but it was rather that he didn’t directly exchange any words with King Tristan at all. It seemed that the Chancellor was the King’s mouthpiece. The Earl of Onowin Island was the one to explain the customs and habits of Zudonia to Arata, and whenever Arata had any further questions, it was the Earl who answered them. </p><p>It wasn’t like the people of Zudonia made Arata feel unwelcome. King Tristan’s council of advisors had provided Arata with every luxury appropriate for a prince of Tesperia and they were always available when the need arose. In the streets, nobles and commoners alike greeted him or made polite eye contact. </p><p>Perhaps it was in Arata’s imagination, but despite everything, he felt that the atmosphere didn’t allow for words to be breathed, that everything which concerned the loss of Arata’s predecessor King Olan was clouded in silence. A silence that in particular cloaked King Tristan.</p><p>Arata took another tentative step towards Tristan. He wasn’t surprised that the king didn’t turn around. Tristan’s shoulders were sagged down, his head hung low, in fact his whole body was hunched. It was not a posture to befit the proud ruler of a land that stretched as far as from the Rapid Fjords in the east to the Mirror Lakes, the gate of the west. </p><p>Seeing King Tristan like that wrenched Arata’s heart. He wanted to reach out, make the misery go away, but how? Everyone in Zudonia had a longer history with King Tristan, could make better assessments of what to say and what not to say than Arata. So, if there was a way to improve the king’s mood, surely someone else would have already found it. It was not Arata’s place to open his mouth, wasn’t it?</p><p>Nobody had asked him to go looking for the king, yet Arata was here, staring at Tristan’s forlorn figure. If he couldn’t think of what to say, Arata could simply retreat and pretend that he was never here. Which didn’t sit well with him. </p><p>Arata twiddled his thumps and decided to give it just one more minute to think of a conversation topic to have with King Tristan, just one more minute. </p><p>III</p><p>The murky water should have made it hard for him to see, yet his eyes had adjusted to his new environment like he was one of them. He was unable to remember anything at all, and he had no fish tail like the folks down here. But they had saved and welcomed him when he was lost, so he was grateful to have found a new home. Maris, the elder, had started calling him clumsy shore man, which somehow amused him. So, he had started calling himself shore man as well. </p><p>The name tickled something in his memory, and while Shore Man couldn’t quite grasp why, there was a fond feeling associated with it. Sometimes, all he wanted was to remember, but the harder he tried, the more difficult it seemed to get. Maris had told him to be patient, and sometimes it was indeed easy for Shore Man to distract himself, learning to live with the Mer folk. He got up early, worked on the seaweed fields and tended to the manatee herds, and then went to bed late, to do the same the next day and the day after.</p><p>Though despite his work being physically tiring, Shore Man’s mind didn’t always want to rest. An empty feeling started to rise in his chest and didn’t want to be pushed down, when the Mer folk gathered and told tales of the old. Shore Man didn’t have any past. Thus, he felt left out, when Maris passed the shell around for someone to share a story. The stories reminded Shore Man of what he was missing with the shell being a symbol for his emptiness. </p><p>Then, he wanted to be alone, to swim away from it all, and return to the shore. It was an irrational thought, born out of despair. Shore Man doubted that he would have the skills yet to swim that far. Besides, without memories, he had no place to go home. </p><p>Today was one of these days where Shore Man had no choice but return to his cave, struggling with idle speculations about his identity. Minute ticked by minute until a clear voice brought him back to reality. </p><p>“Shore Man, I assumed I would find you here, brooding to yourself.” Maris floated closer, settling onto the sea bank next to him.</p><p>He answered her with a harrumph. </p><p>“I am not,” he denied. Brooding sounded so negative in his head.</p><p>Maris laughed softly. “So how do Shore people call withdrawing from the community and perusing questions with no answer to them?”</p><p>“Being a great thinker? Finding solutions for progress?” Shore Man reluctantly offered, realising how ridiculously he sounded. He scrunched his face, closed his eyes and started rubbing his temples. </p><p>“Is it itching at the back of your mind again?” Maris asked, putting a webbed hand on Shore Man’s arm.</p><p>He nodded, then shrugged as if he was not pleased with what he was about to say. “I don’t understand it. I try to think on who I used to be, nothing happens. Alright, I try other activities, not trying to strain my brain, taking my time like you told me. And nothing happens.</p><p>Shore Man clenched his fist, pressing his teeth together. “Sometimes out of the blue, I have the impression that there is something that links me back to my past. It is like it is enclosed in some sort of treasury, but I don’t have the key for it. It’s so frustrating. This is not who I am supposed to be.”</p><p>“So, you try searching for the key, hmmm. Which gets you back to square one where nothing happens. I understand.” Maris flourished her tail up and down. “I believe memory gets triggered by something that is familiar to us.”</p><p>“However, there is nothing familiar here,” Shore Man said in a glum tone. </p><p>Maris shook her head. “Oh, you think there’s nothing familiar here because you’re not one of us? Don’t you believe that. You need to open your mind, not limit yourself to thinking in predefined boxes. I am an old woman who has watched quite an amount of Shore folks. You live in communities, you value family, so do we. I stand with my advice that you need to stop overthinking and to start trusting your feelings and your heart a bit more.”</p><p>“But I was trying to do the latter, and it doesn’t work,” Shore Man insisted, crossing his arms defensively. </p><p>“Maybe you think you do, but your subconscious knows better,” Maris stated. She raised her index finger to stop him from interrupting her. “You want to say that you can’t trick your subconscious. That’s thinking again.”</p><p>“Honestly, Maris, I am willing to try anything that would help me regain my memory. Please, if you have any other idea besides being patient and listening to my intuition, then tell me,” Shore Man beseeched Maris. </p><p>Maris didn’t immediately reply, just looked at him as if she needed to carefully consider a difficult decision.</p><p>“Whatever it is, I am willing to take the risks,” he added, almost hating himself for sounding so desperate. </p><p>“Even if you might get severely injured, even if you might die?”</p><p>“As I said, whatever it takes.” Shore Man nodded vigorously. </p><p>A secretive smile suddenly appeared on Maris green lips, confusing Shore Man. “And why is that so? I mean, you could settle down with us for real, find a woman and have children with her.”</p><p>“No, I am already married,” Shore Man burst out. Then surprised by his own words, he settled his trembling hands on his hips. “And it is with a man, not a woman.”</p><p> “Whom you love with all your heart, who is missing you, who is waiting for you to return.” Maris secretive smile broadened knowingly. “Come tomorrow to my cave when the moon has timed spring tide.”</p><p>IV</p><p>The moment Arata decided to leave, the king turned around, directly meeting Arata’s gaze with a challenging expression on his face. Arata swallowed hard. All the words he had carefully composed vanished from his mind. He was not supposed to be here.</p><p>“Your Majesty,” Arata bowed clumsily. Then instantly, he remembered the superfluity of his gesture. He could have slapped himself, but he shouldn’t have stumbled over how to address his husband. </p><p>“Good that I have found you here,” he continued, trying to talk his mistake over by improvising. “I needed to talk to you.”</p><p>King Tristan eyes narrowed. “So, what does the Earl of Onowin want now? I’ve already told him three times that I don’t need a daily update on the water level in the caverns below our keep. If the sea continues eating into the rock, he needs to discuss stabilising measures with the builders, not me.”</p><p>“No, no,” Arata hastily said to appease the king, “the chancellor didn’t send me. I came on my own. And I am not planning to bother you with details on duties that do not require your attention.”</p><p>Tristan sighed almost inaudibly, but he still seemed to be wary – and cautious of Arata’s presence. “Well, then what do you need of me, Arata? Is it my attendance in the bed chambers?”</p><p>Arata felt the heat rising in his cheeks upon King Tristan’s bluntly addressing a matter that was the subject of all the court gossip. There were already bets ongoing on which day King Tristan would announce that Arata was expecting Zudonia’s long awaited heir. With no news to present, though, Arata would become more and more subject to pressure – from the king’s councillors, from his new subjects, from his own father. </p><p>“I…I…wanted,” Arata fumbled to form a coherent sentence, sweat forming on his brows. Heavens, Arata thought, praying for inspiration to hit soon. He stared past Tristan, hoping he would be able to untwist his tongue if he focused on something else. </p><p>At the end of the horizon, Arata caught sight of what looked to be tails rising out and diving back into the Endless Sea again. Whales, dolphins or yes, even mermaids?</p><p>They were fairy tales, of course, but mermaids had always been popular in Tesperian culture. That reminded Arata of the book he had brought with him to Zudonia.</p><p>“I wanted to give you my wedding gift,” he tentatively offered, hoping that Tristan wouldn’t mention the bed chambers again.</p><p>V</p><p>Tristan stared at Arata incredulously. A wedding gift? What was that supposed to be? He had assumed that all arrangements between Zudonia and Tesperia with regards to alliance and defensive treaties as well as trade agreements had been made. As far as Tristan was aware Arata didn’t owe him anything. </p><p>Anything besides laying with Tristan. </p><p>It was on the tip of Tristan’s tongue to question Arata’s motives, but there was something in the other man’s bearing that stopped Tristan. Something that made him take a closer look instead, seeing the person who was his new husband for real for the first time. Arata was tall, lanky, his flax coloured hair in disorder, his emerald green eyes restless and his face… well, his face was flushed in several shades of beet red. </p><p>Tristan was exactly aware of the reason why he had kept avoiding Arata. To Tristan Arata was a symbol of the new truth his advisors kept trying to push on him. Tristan wanted to keep ignoring his second marriage because acknowledging Arata meant acknowledging that Olan was dead. </p><p>But now that Tristan had taken a glance, he found he couldn’t look away anymore that easily. Arata’s stance reminded Tristan of game ready to flee upon the first sign of danger. Was Tristan that scary? </p><p>Tristan had always thought of himself as a kind and justice person. To him, being king did not mean privilege due to birthright, but being king meant serving the realm by adjusting himself to his subjects’ needs. And that included the people of Zudonia as well as his new husband not being afraid of him. </p><p>Realising, he had been absorbed in his thoughts and left Arata waiting for an answer too long, Tristan finally said: “How thoughtful of you, Arata. That would be nice.”</p><p>Arata nodded, still not quite meeting Tristan’s eye. “Then if it is convenient for you, please follow me.”</p><p>Arata turned around and hurried down the stairs so quickly that Tristan had some difficulties to match Arata’s pace. It was almost as if husband tried to escape him.</p><p>Tristan tried to think about whether he had said something inappropriate to Arata (well, besides obviously being quite blunt about the bed chambers), but didn’t come to a conclusion. He had to run down the corridor after all. When Tristan arrived in the room that used to be Olan’s study, Arata was already inside, sitting at a heavy oak desk decorated with several sailing ship miniatures. He had a book in his lap and attempted to blow dust that was non-existent off the cover. </p><p>When Arata noticed Tristan entering the study, he chewed on his lip, then suddenly jumped from his seat, so that the chair toppled over with a loud thud. Arata flinched and grimaced, before he held out the tome towards Tristan.</p><p>“This is a book.” Arata nodded as if he wanted to emphasize his gesture.</p><p>“I know.” In the instant, Tristan replied, he could have scolded himself for such an insensitive answer. Arata obviously was really nervous about giving this gift to Tristan and Tristan wasn’t putting him at ease at all. </p><p>Tristan took a step towards Arata to accept the gift. Unfortunately, Arata was about to move forward as well, so they collided with each other. The book slid from Arata’s hands and in his eagerness to catch the tome, he wildly waved his arms. One of the carved sailing ships’ mast broke before the rest of the ship went flying through the air. </p><p>Tristan tried to catch it, but it was too late. The HMS Olan fell onto the ground, the tome dropped onto the miniature and broke the ship into several pieces. He sighed, then decided to ignore the mess for now. Tristan wanted this moment to be about Arata’s gift to him, not about an unlucky mishap. </p><p>He picked the book up and read the title out aloud: “Tesperian folk tales of the Lost and Found: Mer people myth and Sailor’s sorrow.” </p><p>Tristan looked up, wanting to thank Arata and asking him a question about Tesperia. Tristan was about to form a sentence, when he realized that Arata had become white as a sheet. His hands and knees were shaking and he looked like he was about to faint. </p><p>Tristan quickly put the fairy tale book back onto the desk. He rushed over to Arata, grasping the other man by his shoulders to steady him.</p><p>“Arata, what is the matter? Are you feeling unwell? Shall I call the court physician?” </p><p>Arata only shook his head. “No, no, no,” he murmured. “That is not necessary. It’s just my own fault. It’s probably best if I leave and we never speak of this again. My apologies, my liege.” </p><p>Arata was about to break away from Tristan, but Tristan was reluctant to let Arata go. </p><p>“Arata, please tell me what’s wrong. I am sure we can figure it out. I promise, I will help the best way I can.”</p><p>Arata looked at Tristan one more time, disbelief and confusion shining in his eyes. Next, Arata ducked down under Tristan’s arms, escaping the study and leaving Tristan behind, dumbfounded.</p><p>VI</p><p>Shore Man floated in and out of his cave. It was probably the Mer folk equivalent of tossing around. Either way, he couldn’t sleep. His body was dead tired, but his mind was wide awake. He had tried everything, from counting and identifying different fish - salmon, trout, herring – over to tending to his beds of coral reefs to wondering how his cave would look like if he tried to decorate it with leftovers from shipwrecks like the other Mer folk did.</p><p>However, in the end Shore Man’s brain always returned to what Maris might have planned for him once spring tide hit. Was he really ready to risk his life? Shore Man listened to the song of the ocean, trying his best to figure out the rhythm of the tides. The rushing of the waves under water sounded so much different to the sounds when he had been on land. </p><p>On land the sea rumbled against rocks, there were furious masses thundering, daring the sailors to take a wild ride while listening to the moaning and creaking of the masts and sheets with the whipping of the winds infuriating the sea even more. </p><p>There was so much more harmony to be had when one let one’s body align with the tune of the tides. The ocean was a tenfold louder, but also a tenfold gentler. Its intensity didn’t feel overwhelming to Shore Man, but more comforting. For the Mer folk the waves wanted to dance and they danced with them. The humming of the currents vibrated in the webs between their fingers, in their multi-coloured scales, in each and every cell of their being. </p><p>Shore Man’s webs were small in comparison and he only possessed two poor non-streamlined legs. Yet if he focussed on embracing all his senses he could perceive the subtle nuances in the swell, hear the soft play of the streams arriving from the mountains on his ears and taste the ocean’s salinity on his skin.</p><p>Even if Shore Man felt still a tiny uncertainty, partly due to his human nature, but also partly because of the unknown that awaited him, he finally thought it was the right time to leave and meet Maris. He silently swam through a labyrinth of smaller and bigger caves; the rocky landscape only being interrupted by a hydrothermal vent here and there. Finally, he reached the outer ring of the Mer folk’s village where the sea grasses and weeds were being farmed. </p><p>Nobody was on the fields yet, but before Shore Man could settle down on the bottom of the ocean, Maris appeared from behind a meadow fence. She shot past him, without saying anything, just motioned Shore Man to follow her. </p><p>They glided through the waters for quite a while in silence until Shore Man started to fall behind Maris. The pull of the currents became more powerful, tugging at his arms, his legs, slowing him down. He struggled to match Maris’ pace, but soon his muscles started burning. Of course, Shore Man could have called out for Maris to slow down. He didn’t though. He didn’t want to show any weakness at the first tiny obstacle. </p><p>After all, Maris had asked if he was ready to risk his life, and if Shore Man wasn’t up to mastering spring tide, how should he be up to for any challenges yet to come? The elder mermaid’s tail was already a small point in the distance. Shore Man gritted his teeth, thinking of how important regaining his identity to him was, and used all of his available strength to swim up to Maris. </p><p>Maybe she had also noticed that he had fallen behind, because Shore Man couldn’t imagine any human being able to outswim someone of the Mer folk, no matter how old they were. Whichever it was, Maris didn’t wait for him any longer. As soon as Shore Man was a tail length away from her, she threw him a hectic look and headed for the surface, her pace reminding him of an arrow that was released from an archer’s bow.</p><p>Shore Man wondered where that certain image had come from now, but then he had to contrate again. Why would Maris want to swim at the surface? </p><p>Usually, the Mer folk were content to spend most of their time below the waterline. Maris had told him once that mermaids luring sailors into the depth was an old wives’ tale as the Mer folk’s focus lay elsewhere. They needed all of the Mer folk to contribute to their community, sea farming, fish hunting, gathering resources from wrecks, not wasting their time riding on the surge of the waves, flirting with human men. </p><p>So, swimming at the surface was an idle pastime to them. Apart from that, swimming below the surface was the faster way to go as it was unlikely that a forceful wind brought you off course. </p><p>Tasi, Maris’ son, had once taken him to the surface behind Maris’ back, to defy his mother. Since then, Shore Man hated going to the surface.</p><p>Way back, Shore Man had struggled so hard to keep his head over water while the sea wanted to drag him far away from Tasi and the Mer folk village. He had felt like he didn’t know how to move his body anymore. But worst of all, in had reinstated the fear of drowning in him after Maris already had taught him how to breathe with the Endless Sea. </p><p>Maris had been furious with Tasi and there had been no talk of going to the surface ever again. </p><p>Until now. Shore Man lingered near a group of dolphins for several minutes, mulling over the things he had experienced so far, well, the ones he could remember. Wasn’t it somehow odd that he felt safe with several tons of water above him, but was afraid when his nose sniffed the air his lungs naturally were supposed to draw in?</p><p>He didn’t like it, but he had to admit to himself that a small part of his brain – the one with the survival instinct – still appeared to be reluctant to risk his life. Shore Man needed to get rid of his lethargy before he would lose track of Maris again. He closed his eyes, channelling his energy as suddenly a high-pitched sound coming from one of the dolphins broke Shore Man’s concentration again. Before he realized what was happening, the marine mammals disappeared in a cloud of dust. Suddenly, he didn’t know anymore where top, bottom, larboard, starboard were. </p><p>Shore Man tried to wag the dirt away with his hands, but it only got worse. He wasn’t able to see further than his own arm length. He let his legs hang, hoping his feet would find a hold somewhere, but the earth they met was shaking. Pebbles joined the dust first, then small stones came into Shore Man’s field of vision. His heart started to thump loudly in chest, his lungs ached. The control over his aquatic breathing started to slip away from him as he thrashed around. </p><p>He knew the sea was alive, but he felt no longer its harmony. Shore Man’s environment solely consisted of frothy murky waters. Streams transforming into shock waves propelled him forward. A current defying the bounds of nature pulled him back. Another jolt flung him into a vortex, with more and more pieces of rock swirling around him. A sharp-edged stone grazed his temple, making his head hurt. A fleeting scene of the past flashed in front of his eyes. Ship. Cliffs. Waves as high as castle walls. Where were they coming from? Seaquake. </p><p>VII</p><p>Arata paced the length of his bedroom, muttering under his breath. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why couldn’t he have thought this idea of his about approaching and even possibly cheering King Tristan up through? Created different scenarios with different possible outcomes like his dear father did for all his strategic decisions. </p><p>No, Arata of course had acted on his impulses instead, immediately seeking Tristan out as soon as his mind had fixed itself on this crazy notion. He should have gotten more information on the King from the Earl of Onowin Island or from one of the other councillors. </p><p>Then, he wouldn’t have made such a blunder. Wouldn’t have mentioned a gift because he needed to come up spontaneously with a conversation topic. Wouldn’t have destroyed Olan’s and Tristan’s favourite miniature ship, the one they had built together, in his rush to hand over something presentable to the king. Would have had a proper gift – not a book with tales that would remind King Tristan every time of Olan’s death – too much resemblance. </p><p>It was probably the most embarrassing moment of Arata’s entire life. Tristan had said something to him after Arata had made a fool of himself, but Arata couldn’t actually remember any of Tristan’s words. In his panic to get away from the king, Arata had been singly focused on finding the door and not falling all over himself again. His other senses had been completely blocked.</p><p>Arata wondered if Tristan would continue to ignore him, which would be the least unpleasant option. Or if he was to be shamed in front of the whole court. Which wouldn’t be so bad either. Maybe nobles and commoners would start gossiping behind his back (as if they didn’t do that anyway). Or worst of all, King Tristan would get a priest, file a divorce and send Arata back in disgrace to his father.</p><p>Arata shuddered as he imagined how disappointed his father would be with him. He had heard it so often how he wasn’t able to live up to his brother Cadfael’s deeds, how everything he did was only second best, how he wasn’t able to make King Caderyn proud. Disappointing his father once again was something that Arata couldn’t allow to happen. </p><p>He had to apologize to Tristan somehow, make it up to him. And this time, Arata promised himself, he would find the right words, he would not come unprepared. As much as it hurt to return to his place of shame, Arata would need to return to the study. He likely wouldn’t run into Tristan there considering that it was the place where Arata had trampled over the king’s very personal feelings. But maybe it was best to get some sleep beforehand as being worn out and tired didn’t go too well with deep thinking. </p><p>~</p><p>Arata slept better than he expected. The next morning, he woke full of energy that needed to be put into fruitful work. Without any further distraction, Arata walked back to the study.</p><p>The room’s door was closed. Hoping that nobody would notice him, demanding answers for yesterday’s behaviour, Arata pushed the handle down. He sneaked into the study, then firmly closed the door behind him. Although the sun had already risen, the curtains were still closed. The glimmer in the fireplace was about to die down, it barely outlined the furniture. </p><p>Arata cringed as his boots crushed down on some wooden pieces. Probably nobody had cleaned up the broken ship bits. He should go over to the windows to let the sunshine in instead of lingering in the middle of the room. After all, he would be the one who needed to put things back into order. But something stopped him from moving forward. Arata pricked up his ears – there was a breathing sound or was it just him wheezing from all the stress? Good gracious, not that he was about to turn insane.</p><p>Shrugging his shoulders, Arata groped in the dimly-lit study for some sort of orientation point. He cursed under his breath as his hip bumped into the desk. Well, at least he got hold onto its edge as he stretched his other arm outward. There, there was the chair and some sort of strange object placed on it. Bulky, but its shape not angular, but rounded. Sturdy, but rather soft to the touch.</p><p>Well, Arata could check on it once he finally had opened the curtains. In the end, he made it to the windows without injuring himself. The curtains were quite heavy, thus he only pulled them so far apart that a ray of sunshine was able to lighten up the middle of the room. </p><p>Despite that, Arata had to squint his eyes against the sudden brightness. As he tried to open them again, bright spots blurred his vision. And in-between Arata realised there was a male person slouched on the chair, soundly asleep with his head resting on a weighty tome. That didn’t look too comfortable. </p><p>Arata approached the desk, eyes still adjusting to the new light conditions, to gently tap the man on the shoulder. He stretched out his hand – and then abruptly recoiled. It was King Tristan, slumbering on the Tesperian folk talks. What was he doing here with Arata’s outrageous gift? Did Arata really want to know? </p><p>Uncertain, his finger hovered in the air. Would someone else come to the study and look for the king? Probably, and then Arata wouldn’t have the chance to explain himself before they chased him away.</p><p>Though if Arata waited for King Tristan to wake up first, maybe Tristan would be a bit more willing to listen to Arata? Arata liked to be well rested and assumed it was the same for most people. He decided it wouldn’t hurt if Tristan was more comfortable while sleeping. While Arata started looking for a blanket, he couldn’t help but wonder if Tristan had really spent all night reading the Tesperian folk tales. Arata’s imagination failed to give him a reason why Tristan would torture himself with these stories.</p><p>After rummaging around in all corners and cabinets of the study, Arata gave up. He didn’t want to wake up Tristan by making so much noise. He decided to call a servant and ask them to bring a blanket and also a light meal in case Tristan was hungry. Arata didn’t have to wait long until his request was fulfilled. He took the tray from the servant and placed it on the desk behind the tome. Afterwards, Arata carefully wrapped the woollen blanket around Tristan’s shoulders. Then he sat down on the floor and waited.</p><p>VIII</p><p>His stomach growled before he even opened his eyes. There was this mouth-watering smell of warm bread filling Tristan’s nostrils. He yawned, stretched himself, then he peered carefully through his eyelashes. Someone had sat a plate, which not only contained slices of bread, but also smoked trout, a middle-sized piece of beef and some cheese, in front of him alongside with a cup of wine. Was it already the sixth hour of the day?</p><p>The last thing Tristan remembered was a knock on the door, but whoever that was he had shouted at them to leave him alone. There had been that really interesting passage about Mer people interacting with humans with one of the writers arguing that the mysterious sea folk hated all land creatures, especially sailors, and only wanted to see them drowned and dead. However, there was another author in that collection of Tesperian folk tales who claimed to have proof of mermaids and mermen having saved human life. </p><p>Of course, everything in that book of Arata’s was a myth, but still, Tristan had read on and on until he had obviously wandered into dreamland where he saw Olan being dragged underwater by a woman with a huge fishtail. </p><p>Undecidedly, Tristan poked the trout with his table knife. Secretly, he knew he couldn’t let go of that second story. But there were so many questions in his head that the book hadn’t answered yet. If he turned to Frederick with them though, the Earl of Onowin Island would probably assume that Tristan had really lost it now. And put the blame on Tristan’s new husband. Which was a thought that didn’t please Tristan. </p><p>After Olan’s disappearance, Arata was the first person who had made an honest attempt to talk to Tristan when most people either avoided him or used Frederick as their spokesperson. Also, getting Tristan a personal wedding gift that didn’t have anything to do with the dowry, land grants or any other clauses in their marriage contract had been really kind of Arata. So, Tristan hoped to see his new husband around more often. </p><p>Hopefully, Arata was doing fine. Yesterday, he had seemed to be a bit under the weather. Tristan decided that he should definitely check on Arata. Perhaps, Arata was also the person who knew more about Mer people given that he was Tesperian and the one who had given him the book. Why hadn’t Tristan considered this earlier? In all honesty, he needed to start speaking to people again that weren’t the Earl of Onowin Island.</p><p>Tristan took a bite of cheese and then content with his train of thought, gazed up as he chewed.  He almost choked as he realized that Arata was sitting on the ground. How had his mind conjured Arata up there? Tristan’s eyes became blurry as he coughed to free his windpipe. </p><p>He felt some soft pats on the back, and finally Tristan could breath freely. </p><p>“Are you all right, King Tristan? I am sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Arata said quietly. “I actually came here to clean up and to ponder my misdemeanour.” </p><p>“Ponder your misdemeanour?” Tristan asked, puzzled. “If you mean the broken miniature, that could have happened to me as well. It was just a little accident and I can try to fix it. Or make a new one.”</p><p>Arata made an uhm sound. “Are you really sure, my liege? I mean, isn’t it… wasn’t it a unique piece exclusively made for you?”</p><p>“Olan made it for me to teach me more about ships, so I could learn which part has which name and which strategy would be best for a battle at sea. But I am kind of hopeless when it comes down to naval matters.” Tristan scratched his head. “Maybe if I have to rebuild the miniature, it will make it easier for me to remember which is the fore mast and what gaff-rigging is. Say Arata, are you good at sailing?”</p><p>There was an uncertain look on Arata’s face as if Tristan had surprised him with his wordiness and his question. Nonetheless, Tristan took it as a good sign that Arata seemed to be willing to listen to him. Tristan wanted to show Arata that he was neither a ruler to be feared nor a scary person. So, Tristan needed to be affirmative while at the same time he needed to get Arata talking about the Tesperian folk tales. </p><p>“Well,” Arata said, his fingers playing nervously with a strand of his hair. “I received the proper education, but I was never able to meet Cadfael’s skill.”</p><p>Tristan smiled. “I guess we are two landlubbers then. We can do it together, if you like, and renew our knowledge about the art of sailing and life at sea in general. Though I suppose that with you being Tesperian that you know more about life at sea than me.”</p><p>“What makes you think so, my liege?” Arata sounded a bit astonished. “I mean both Zudonia and Tesperia are seafaring nations and you are…” </p><p>Arata obviously tried to find an appropriate word that described the expected naval savviness of a king ruling several islands. </p><p>Tristan felt flattered, but needed to laugh nonetheless. “Just because I am a firstborn doesn’t mean I have been blessed by Neptune’s trident. I made my assumption based on the book you gifted to me. Sadly, Zudonia doesn’t have such wonderful myths about the oceans and its inhabitants. But my late mother used to read me her favourite stories about brave knights. So, I guess you have read all the Mer people myth?”</p><p>Arata nodded. Once more, he was a bit pale around the nose, so Tristan motioned for him to take a seat on the armchair close to his desk. Arata hastily sat down and grabbed the armrests tightly. </p><p>“Yes, yes. About that, my liege. That’s the actual thing I wanted to apologize for. Apart from breaking your ship. I mean, breaking it was bad enough, but I don’t have enough words to say how truly sorry I am for giving you such an improper, probably insulting gift.” </p><p>Once he had started talking, Arata speeded up more and more, the words pouring out of him, making it impossible for Tristan to find a gap in Arata’s speech where Tristan could barge in. </p><p>“Please believe me, I didn’t know what I was doing. I will make it up to you, my liege. I will do anything you ask of me. But I beseech you not to tell your council, please don’t chase me away from your court. And I beg you not to send word to my father of my failure.”</p><p>Arata was about to literally get down on his knees. Tristan quickly shook his head and gestured wildly to stop Arata. The whole gesture made Tristan flood with embarrassment.</p><p>“Don’t… don’t… don’t apologize. There’s no need to ask for my forgiveness. To be honest I don’t even know why you are doing it. So far the book has been really interesting.” </p><p>Tristan hoped his facial expression was earnest enough, he didn’t want Arata to think that he was mocking him.</p><p>“Yes, but it’s a book about sailors lost at sea. Doesn’t it remind you too much about what happened to King Olan?” Arata shifted around on the armchair. “Doesn’t it make you sad? My father would disinherit me if he knew how I treated the marriage he so laboriously arranged for me. I mean that’s a thing an enemy would do: Reminding their husband of the death of their predecessor.” Arata slapped himself with the flat of his hand against his forehead.</p><p>Tristan pursed his lips. “Well, but I believe you when you say you didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t think I am too gullible. To be a good ruler, you need to know the hearts of your people and I don’t see a reason why it should be profitable for you if you get on my bad side.”</p><p>Arata inspected his fingers closely as if he hoped to find something quite extraordinary on them. After a while, he said in a low voice: “That might be so. I still would have expected you to be unhappy with me though, my liege. Even if there is no malicious intent behind a deed, it nevertheless holds the power to be hurtful.”</p><p>“What happened saddens me, true. Sometimes less, sometimes more.” Tristan took another bite of his meal in order to sort his thoughts and articulate them. He sighed. “I admit, it sounds ridiculous and Frederick has told me I won’t find closure if I don’t accept that I am widowed, but I am convinced Olan is alive. I have this feeling I can’t shake off. And your tales give me hope. What if someone saved Olan, but something happened and he wasn’t… isn’t able to return to Zudonia?”</p><p>Tristan couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word. Mermaid, merman, what if Arata… well, what if he didn’t believe in the theory that the Mer people were real?</p><p>IX</p><p>When he came to himself, Shore Man felt as if he had died a second time. Or a first time. His head pounded, every limb in his body felt as if it had been beaten with a wooden stick, the skin on his chest and his stomach was severely scraped and he bled from several wounds. There was little light to be had and Shore Man’s eyes needed several minutes until he could make out some of his surroundings. He was lying on his back on half a dozen of duffle bags. On Shore Man’s right side was a wooden bulkhead partition.</p><p>Shore Man tried to move. He winced as a wave of pain washed over him. If he was hurting so much, surely, he couldn’t be dead. Then, he remembered that he had felt like that once before in a place such as this one. However, this time, Shore Man didn’t struggle for air, his lungs were at ease with the water.</p><p>But now what? </p><p>Before his mind could come up with a solution, Maris appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. The tension eased from his muscles and Shore Man simply waited for Maris to speak.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” she asked as she settled down next to him. </p><p>“Bruised, battered. As if death has revisited.” He paused to cough, the vibrations rattling his ribcage, causing pain. “It was a seaquake, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“Yes, it was.” Maris simply said. From behind her back, she pulled out a small phial. Maris removed the stopper. Supporting Shore Man’s head, she put the phial to his lips.</p><p>Shore Man didn’t resist. He assumed it was some sort of medicine to speed up the healings of his wounds, and the bitter taste of the liquid confirmed his suspicions. </p><p>“Why didn’t you warn me ahead, Maris? I guess during your long life it’s not the first seaquake you’ve experienced.” Shore Man wanted to sound angry, but he was unable to muster the strength for it. He sounded more exhausted, more resigned. </p><p>Maris returned the empty phial to a small belt bag she wore around her belly. “Well, I didn’t tell you because I presumed it would have scared you. Not consciously. I am aware you meant it when you told me you were ready to risk your life. Because knowing your identity is a key for being at peace. And that’s exactly the reason why I kept it to myself that we would cross an area that is prone to seaquakes.”</p><p>“I don’t think I can follow, Maris,” Shore Man interrupted her. “How could have my subconsciousness worked against me if I had known about the dangers ahead? Wouldn’t I have been more prepared for that situation?”</p><p>Maris shook her head as she patched up Shore Man with bandages made out of green algae. “It doesn’t matter that you spent almost all your life at sea, you didn’t spend it below the surface. I don’t mean in a negative way, but you’re still a human who almost drowned when your ship got smashed from the aftermath of a seaquake. Even if you can’t access all of your memory right now, part of your body remembers. The fear stemming from your subconsciousness would have taken the energy away from you, slowed your swimming down, impeded you breathing with the ocean.”</p><p>“Maybe it makes sense when my head hurts less. Are we safe for now? Where are we actually? Is this a ship?” Shore Man craned his neck. Something felt oddly familiar “Was this my ship?” </p><p>“I think so. Have a look at this.” </p><p>Only now Shore Man realised Maris was sitting on a particularly heavy seaman’s chest. She used a photophore on her tail to light up the area. The chest was beautifully carved with a coat of arms showing two whales supporting a blue and silvery wavy shield on each side. It was joined by a second coat of arms, an escutcheon painted in gold and green showing a castle on a cliff. Both shields were crowned. Beneath them the motto <em> Ocean lungs, Earthen heart in unity </em>was written.</p><p>Slowly, Shore Man turned onto his left side, carefully stretching out his arm to touch the ornate decoration. A few balanidae had started attaching themselves to the wood, there was some rust on the metal fittings and there were splinters on the edges. But otherwise, the sea chest still looked like it had on the day Shore Man had received it. His fourth, no, their fourth wedding anniversary. There was a warm feeling spreading in his chest.</p><p>“The Ocean lungs, I reckon that refers to me. And my husband is the Earthen heart,” Shore Man uttered his thoughts out aloud, hoping that Maris would give him more hints. If she directed his musings, maybe his memory wouldn’t shut him out so quickly.</p><p>Maris pointed towards the second escutcheon. “Is this your home?”</p><p>Shore Man looked at her blankly for a moment. “No, it’s not.”</p><p>“Okay,” Maris said. “You know what, Shore Man, “don’t pursue your answers to my question. Just answer with the first thing that comes to your mind. My questions are not biased. They won’t take you in a certain direction because I barely know anything about your shore life. So, whose home is it?”</p><p>“It’s the king’s castle, the seat of his sovereign rule. But I’ve been living there for quite a while.” Shore Man smiled, more to himself than to Maris. There wasn’t a specific reason for his smile, it was more that it came to him naturally. </p><p>“Good,” Maris smiled back at Shore Man. “A king wears a crown, right? We Mer folk put monarchy behind us several decades ago, but I remember from the tales of our ancestors that royalty always wore some kind of fancy headgear. Please take a second look at the carvings.”</p><p>“The crowns.” Shore Man raised his eyebrows. “I am married to the king. I am married to the king,” he repeated. “That is some discovery.”</p><p>Maris bowed deeply. “Shall I call you, Your Majesty now?”</p><p>He laughed. “Don’t mock me, Maris. I never felt all high and mighty. They needed a naval adviser at the council and this was me. The king was really bad with ships, so I was supposed to teach him.”</p><p>“And then you fell in love,” Maris concluded. “I remember how much you objected upon my suggestion to woo one of our mermaids.”</p><p>Suddenly, Shore Man pulled a grimace. “If I only knew my name. I mean, the might of the sea probably has taken this ship far away from home. I would risk a lot if I ran around showing random people I don’t know our coat of arms. If they were enemies they could take me prisoner. Not everybody would be as welcoming as your people, Maris. Did you see the ship’s name somewhere? Does it give some kind of clue?” </p><p>He tore at his hair, annoyed with himself for feeling a spark of hope first, but having gotten stuck on his route towards his identity once more.</p><p>“No, however we have something better.” Maris cocked her head. “We could open this chest here, but I suppose the seawater might ruin its contents. If you have regained some of your strength and think you are up to it, we could also try to bring it to the surface together. Some place that is not inhabited by humans.”</p><p>“It sounds good to me, but what if another seaquake hits?” Shore Man skeptically looked at his arms where several bruises had turned purple. </p><p>“Unfortunately, that is always the possibility. We either could return to the village and then bring up the chest from there or we can directly swim up to the surface from here. Both options have its advantages and disadvantages.” Maris arranged some ship debris to depict their situation. “If we choose the former, we are longer in the quake area here, but if it happens, we are farer away from its epicentre and the effects won’t be as bad. If we choose the latter, we will be leaving the quake area sooner, but if one hits us, it will be full force. This time, I will leave the choice up to you. I am going to sleep now and so should you.”</p><p>X</p><p>It was an intimidating question that King Tristan asked him there. Arata didn’t want to say anything that would possible upset or hurt the king although Tristan had assured him that the incident with the ship and the gift hadn’t done anything of that kind.</p><p>“My liege,” Arata said cautiously, “it’s difficult for me to remark on this without knowing any details. If I am not mistaken, King Olan’s ship got lost near the Bastard Leaves Abyss? So, if he got shipwrecked somewhere, you believe someone would have saved him, taken him in?”</p><p>Tristan poked his food with his table knife. “I have thought every possible scenario through. At least that’s what I think. Olan could have even been taking prisoner by one of our rival neighbours. But then surely, their ruler would have sent us a message with their demands? I probably shouldn’t say that, but I would pay a hefty ransom sum to have Olan returned in good health to me.”</p><p>“Alright, in your theory Olan hasn’t been found by someone who is out for a reward. Nevertheless, he has been found. Though what has that to do with my naval skills, my knowledge about the sea and the Tesperian tales?” Arata wanted to scratch his head, then he stopped his hand in mid-air. “Oh, oh, yes.”</p><p>Tristan had given some hints, it was just Arata being dense.</p><p>“Please be honest with me, Arata. I would value your opinion here, if I am indeed a desperate dreamer that can’t move on. I feel embarrassed – and now I am saying it aloud anyway – that I want to believe in Mermaids and Mermen just to have another possibility that Olan has somehow survived.” Tristan gazed dejected at the tome that lay still open, showing an illustration of a sailor surrounded by a group of Mer people. “You are an unbiased third party, I think it’s easier if you tell me instead of Frederick or any of the other councillors who all mean so well.”</p><p>“May I?” Upon Tristan’s nod, Arata took the Tesperian Tales. He browsed a bit, reading here and there. Then, he finally said: “If I only knew, my liege. If I went with the rational part of my character, the one my father and my brothers always wanted to instil in to me, then I would have to agree with the Earl of Onowin Island. But if I went with what my heart says – and I have been accused of being a dreamer as well – then I wouldn’t rule out the existence of Mer people just because they are unknown to us.”</p><p>Tristan slowly got up from his chair. He gave Arata a scrutinizing look, but that look didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. Quite the contrary. As if the king recognised something in Arata, something that created a connection between them. </p><p>“Would you accompany me to the beach, Arata? There is a small tongue of land where usually nobody else will come by. We could sit there, watch the Endless Sea and you could point out your favourite stories to me. I don’t expect us to see some fishtails, but being near the water calms me down. In a sense I am being closer to Olan, I guess.”</p><p>Clutching the tome, Arata stood up as well. “I would be very happy to do so, my liege.”</p><p>Arata and Tristan were fortunate that on their way outside they didn’t encounter one of the council members or any other courtier who wanted to speak to them. This way, they walked in complete silence to the shore, giving Arata the chance to ponder what had happened since he had dared to approach the king. In hindsight, Arata hadn’t put his foot in that badly. At least for now, he had gotten the chance to build a relationship with Tristan after all.</p><p>There were a few white clouds in the sky, but otherwise the day was bright and clear. Tristan soon found them a dry spot where they could sit down. Arata liked that Tristan didn’t make a huge fuss about his royal person, he didn’t need a chaise longue brought to the beach or even a blanket, he seemed to be pragmatically inclined. Arata joined him, stretching his legs on the rough sand littered with shells and driftwood. </p><p>“Let me check, my liege,” he said, reopening the Tesperian folk tales once more, “I particularly like this account of human Mer folk encounter. This was supposed to be two hundred fifty years ago. The merman’s name was Yamani and he liked to venture far away from his village at the heart of the Endless Sea. He swam in mountain lakes and in freshwater rivers. One day though, Yamani got injured in a dike as he entered Tesperia.” </p><p>Arata cleared his throat, noticing with delight that Tristan was attentively listening to him. Then, he carried on.</p><p>“The young prince Sæwine found him, and a gifted healer Sæwine nursed Yamani back to health. The prince also kept Yamani hidden from the superstitious citizens who believed Mer people were an ill-fated omen. Yamani returned to the sea and it wasn’t long until Sæwine forgot about him. Several decades later, after Sæwine had inherited the throne, a well-established ruler, his ship the Serapis got attacked by pirates. They not only robbed the golds and jewels, but the pirates tied Sæwine, the Serapis’ crew and all the servants up and tossed them into the Endless Sea.”</p><p>“And then Yanami saved Sæwine in return?” Tristan blurted out, then covered his mouth with his hand. “I am sorry for interrupting you, Arata. It’s just… well… never mind.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t mind at all. Yanami indeed cut Sæwine’s ropes loose and brought the unconscious king to the shore. Sæwine soon woke up and couldn’t remember freeing himself, but when he looked at the horizon he saw a fishtail poking out of the water.” Arata smiled, his heart warming at Tristan’s little outburst of excitement. “May I assume that you liked listening to this story?”</p><p>But Tristan obviously hadn’t heard Arata’s questions as he stared into the distance. He raised his arm and pointed towards a small, rocky island sitting in the middle of the Endless Sea, several miles away from him. Tristan opened and closed his lips, but no sound came from them. Arata squinted his eyes. </p><p>A tail emerged from the water, disappeared and then re-emerged. It was too small for a whale and not the right shape for a dolphin. Out of the blue, Tristan grasped Arata’s hand, squeezing it forcefully. Arata didn’t complain, instead he pulled Tristan close. To do so simply felt right.</p><p>XI</p><p>After such a long time under water, it was strange to breathe like a human again. The exhaustion from bringing the sea chest ashore whereas his body was still sore from the impact of the sea quake and the influx of so much air made Shore Man dizzy. The world spun around him, so he had to close his eyes, panting all the while. </p><p>As soon as he started to feel better though, Shore Man adjusted himself to a sitting position, curiously gazing at the chest. His hands were trembling as he reached for the clasps. Maris, having declined to settle herself on the crags, circled around him, giving Shore Man an encouraging wave.</p><p>Now that he had made another step towards regaining his identity, or he was even about to reveal it, Shore Man was somehow afraid of the sea chest’s content. What if the fragments of his memories were fraught, a figment of imagination, of wishful thinking? Was reality about to hit him full force into his face?</p><p>It took Shore Man four attempts to fumble the clasps open. There were some garments inside, nothing fancy, but the material was high quality and nice to touch. Would he ever wear them again? Since he had no fishtail, he wore a pair of shorts made of seagrass, so he was basically naked by human standards.</p><p>Shore Man knew he was dawdling, getting distracted by idle thoughts. He moved the garments to one side and discovered a bundle wrapped in beeswax cloths. He carefully removed it and found a bunch of letters inside. Were they addressed to him or had he written, but never dispatched them?</p><p>He took the first one, but he was shaking so much that he dropped all of them, scattering them on the rocky surface. His legs were all wobbly as he scrambled forward to recollect them. But the wind was picking up and carried several sheets back to the sea. Shore Man cursed, realising once more how all these months with the Mer folk had changed him. In the end, he only managed to get hold of one letter. At least, it appeared to be a complete set.</p><p>Shore Man huffed and puffed as he rested his back against the chest. However, he wouldn’t delay reading again. Not that Maris’ and his effort would be in vain. He cramped the edges of the sheets, almost tearing them apart, as his brain registered the first words.</p><p>‘Dear Olan (<em>is that my name?</em>),</p><p>I am sorry I always appear to be so cold when you have to leave. I am aware that the political situation requires you to be away from home more often these days. You are part of my council and I trust your decision when you say these missions are necessary to protect Zudonia (<em>home?</em>). I know I would only be in your way if I accompanied you, and also you were always right when you pointed out that I am needed at the castle, solid earth beneath my feet.</p><p>(<em>So, I guess I am Olan if there wasn’t someone else at the ship with that name. But then why should their letter be in my sea chest? Maris should call me by this name to check if it feels right, </em> he thought<em>.</em>)</p><p>Well, that is the voice of reason speaking, but it doesn’t prevent my heart from aching when you are gone. My rivals probably would die of laughter if they knew how sentimental I am. Still, I have to admit I already miss you before you are gone. The thought that I won’t be able to see you, to touch you, to embrace you makes me burst with yearning.</p><p>(<em>Speechless here. Will my hands ever stop trembling?</em>)</p><p>I have to summon all my willpower not to beg you to stay, so I rather give the impression of not caring at all instead of making it even more difficult for you to leave if I am an emotional mess. </p><p>My position meant that I had to marry for an alliance and thus I am even more privileged that I not only fell in love with you, but that you love me back, no matter the weakness of my character. I am truly blessed. </p><p>(<em>Why is there the likeness of water in my eyes and I cannot see? I do not understand for I have lived with the Mer folk.</em>)</p><p>I just wanted to explain myself and assure you of my feelings. I would not want you to think that you wronged me, ill-assumed thoughts accompanying you on your journey when you need to be in high spirits for the greater good of our people.</p><p>(<em>Now my longing for an identity, a sense of being, is given a new meaning. Now my heart aches as well.</em>)</p><p>I will pray for the winds to be in your favour and for your safe return.</p><p>In deep affinity,</p><p>T.(<em>ristan? Yes. Tristan.</em>)’</p><p> </p><p>Overwhelmed by his feelings, Shore Man or Olan, laid down, ignoring the sharp edges of the island’s rocky underground. There was an abundance of thoughts in his head which needed processing, but he was uncertain where to begin and in which direction he should take his mind. Thankfully, Maris stayed in the background, sensing Olan’s need for privacy.</p><p>The letter from Tristan, from his husband seemed to have triggered Olan’s memory. Still there was no order to it. He remembered days from his childhood as well as from his adult life, then the pictures in front of Olan’s inner eye vanished again and gaps in his chronology remained to be filled. </p><p>Olan realised he needed to focus to regain some sort of control, both on his emotions and these random flashbacks. He rolled onto his stomach and stared into the distance, trying to concentrate on a single spot to calm himself down.</p><p>He recognized a protracted coastline with a promontory sticking out. It was likely to be the mainland. There was a stony castle sitting on cliff. The sight felt familiar, like Olan had already seen it countless times. And so, the next thought came rolling in. Could it be that he was closer to home than he had expected to be?</p><p>Olan squinted against the sun, but even though he had good eyes, it was hard to recognize the details. A sense of urgency overcame him. It wouldn’t do any harm if he swam a bit closer, would it? There was no way someone would stop Olan now from finding out. Maris apparently was occupied with diving in and out into the ocean, looking for Bastard Leaves. Since they were so rare, Olan could probably race to the shoreline and be back before she even noticed.</p><p>Olan put the letter back into the sea chest, carefully closed it and jumped back into the ocean at the other end of the small island. He swam, dived and crawled until his muscles started to ache, but he simply willed the burning sensation away. A swarm of tuna fish dashed away as he shot through the water, the ocean being merciful again as the currents propelled Olan forward. </p><p>After more than several minutes had passed, Olan decided to emerge from the waters. So far, Maris hadn’t been following him, and with relief, he saw that the promontory was quite close. Olan was able to recognize two human figures sitting at the beach while the wind carried the faint sound of voices towards him.</p><p>Maybe he should make sure that they didn’t see him in case he was mistaken after all and this wasn’t home. He should get as close as possible without risking being discovered, but at the same time it should enable him to get more information on this place by listening in to this conversation.</p><p>Olan looked around, then discovered a nearby sea cave. He decided to linger at the entrance, straining his ears and craning his neck to also catch a better glimpse. </p><p>A middle-aged man with short dark blonde hair was being held by another, slighter younger man whose hair reminded Olan of a straw bale.</p><p>Somehow, Olan was pretty sure he never had seen straw head before. On the contrary, the sight of the first man quickened his pulse, made his heart beat faster. His own breathing abruptly sounded awfully loud to him, but the pair of them were occupied with themselves. Olan put his hands to his temples, massing them. Maybe it was his imagination, but he believed it would improve his ability to better take this situation and everything related to his memory loss into consideration.</p><p>He now was very certain that there was a deep connection between his feelings and his memories. Every time, Olan appeared to remember something from his past, it triggered an emotionally powerful reaction in him: the tales and family life of the Mer folk, the sea chest with the carved coat of arms, his husband’s letter, and now the face of the man close-by.</p><p>His voice also rang true with Olan, so it had to be Tristan. But how come there was this straw head embracing Tristan as if they had an intimate relationship? A relationship that should only exist in married couples? Tristan wouldn’t have gotten himself a lover. The idea didn’t match the letter Olan had received from his husband.</p><p>Olan’s wounds were itching alongside with the fuzziness in his brain, his skin was burning, his cheeks hot as he struggled with his composure. For how long had he been gone? How long had he been living with Maris and her people? Was he…yes…he wanted to gift Tristan Bastard Leaves from the Abyss, the waves, the treacherous cliffs the ship sunk, him lost at sea, never having returned to Zudonia… Tristan obviously thought Olan to be dead. And then he had gotten married to straw head. Because in the time Olan and Tristan had been married, they hadn’t had an heir. </p><p>Without a warning, Olan had to bend over cramping as a searing pain shot through his stomach. He should have eaten something before he had left the Mer people village. Anyhow, his stomach felt as much in a turmoil as he was. Tristan and that straw head that had replaced him seemed to be quite comfortable with each other. Apparently, he, Olan was not missed at all. So, Tristan had gotten over his death and found a new husband, and perhaps also someone new to gift his heart to, and he, Olan or Shore Man, was not needed here any longer. </p><p>To hell with his messed-up brain and his messed-up memories. He could shed all of his humanity now and be forever the Shore Man living in harmony with the Mer folk. He should swim back now to Maris, but Olan found himself too angry, too confused, worn down to move, his energy drained.</p><p>XII</p><p>They sat there for a while in amiable silence watching fins rise and fall until Tristan stirred. He looked at the sun which had already risen high above the sky and sighed. </p><p>“Today is the onset of autumn, isn’t it? I have to leave, Arata, for I have promised Frederick that with the autumn season I will personally take care of my responsibilities as a ruler again. I am a man of word, and I have already neglected my duties for far too long. I want to thank you though from the bottom of my heart for giving me hope once more.” </p><p>Tristan took the book from Arata’s lap and pointed to the horizon. “We truly don’t know whatever is out there. But by indulging in me, believing with me in what others deem impossible, you give me strength to proceed with my official duties. I trust I can turn to you whenever there is sadness and despair in my soul to explore the myth of the sea, so Olan can live on. Will you stay until dusk and watch the Endless Sea for me?”</p><p>Arata nodded, touched by the king’s speech. Satisfied, Tristan turned around, his light steps fading as he returned towards the castle. Arata stared at Tristan’s back until the king disappeared from Arata’s sight. He dug his fingers into the sand, playing with some pearly shells, giving in into his own musings.</p><p>So much had happened in just these two days that hadn’t happened during all the months since Arata had to marry Tristan. Then, Arata never would have imagined to have such a conversation with Tristan. Somehow, he felt that he and Tristan had grown quite close. Arata’s urge to ease Tristan’s pain and to make him smile more often was just growing stronger and stronger. Perhaps (he tried to shoo away his father’s voice than he was simply deluding himself), Arata really could help Tristan on his journey to overcome his grief.</p><p>A fat drop of rain, and another one, splashing down on his nose, pulled Arata out of his train of thought again. The sun was nowhere to be seen, instead a wall of dark clouds covered the sky. The wind whipped the waves forward, the sea frothing with rage as it formed large wave crests, only to have them plunge into an abyss over and over again.</p><p>So, the first autumn storm had arrived. Arata got up to his feet, and was about to leave the promontory, when he heard a strange noise. Initially, he believed it was only the lament of the winds, but then another outcry passed his ears. Arata turned around quickly, trying to locate the sound. Was there someone out there in need? A fisherman who had been surprised by the weather turning? A noble passing idle time on the waters?</p><p>He sprinted further down the beach, fighting against gale after gale trying to push him back. It was hard to see when only here and there lighting illuminated the pitch-black area, but there was no way Arata would leave. He had to ensure that there truly was nobody out there injured or he had to find whoever had made that noise.</p><p>There, there it was again, a rough shout interrupted by some moaning. Then, the sound abruptly died in a sore throat. Breathing heavily, Arata staggered forward. Hurry, he needed to hurry. He didn’t want to be late. Flash. A heavy shape lying atop on a ledge. Darkness. Feeling wet, slick skin. Slick with… blood? Another flash. Almost naked human. Unconscious. Darkness. Trying to dry his hands. Hoisting person on his back. Where to now? Thunder rolling, lightning following. </p><p>Castle was too far away. Rain hammering down. A hut. He remembered. There was a beach hut that was closer by than the castle. He should go there. Another blast shaking the two of them to the core. Further, further. Look out for lighting. Trying to memorize the surrounding. For the darkness. There, the little house. Finally. Pushing the handle down. Wind shutting the door full force. Collapsing inside. </p><p>XIII</p><p>The council’s meeting had been long and tedious. Well, at least Tristan was freshly informed about everything, inner and foreign affairs alike. Although he had slept until well in the morning, he was quite tired (but after all he had been reading until the wee hours). He was happy to retire to his chambers. </p><p>Tristan simply would have to resist the temptation to peruse some more of the stories in the Tesperian folk tales. He wondered if Arata would tell him another one of his favourites. But when he inquired about his husband’s whereabouts, a servant told him that Arata had already called it a night.</p><p>Upon hearing this, Tristan felt a tinge of regret and disappointment. He hadn’t given this marriage any thought beyond duty and obligation. However, after talking for real to Arata, Tristan so far found Arata’s company pleasant and calming. The past months, Tristan had always dreaded going to sleep because when his body rested, his mind had come up with even more sorrows and worries. Tristan had hoped Arata would be able to keep these things at bay. But regarding the weather that was raging outside, Arata probably had been soaked to his bones, taken a bath and gotten some rest.</p><p>Good for him. And Tristan anyway could ask for Arata’s company for the nights that were to follow. Just a bit of comfort to hold off the emptiness, the loneliness. Just being a bit close to someone who didn’t weigh him down with a ton of expectations and pressure. Just concentrating on an enjoyable moment instead of thoughts circling around the past or the future. Yes, that would be good.</p><p>Hanging on to this warm image, Tristan slipped under the covers and dozed off. He dreamed of Olan swimming with mermaids and merman, of sailing with Arata to the end of the world, of diving deep down into the Endless Sea.</p><p>XIV</p><p>Gasping for air, thrashing his arms and legs around, he attempted to find some point of orientation in this darkness. He had lost count of how many times he had blacked out and then had woken up dizzy, disorientated, not in charge of his life’s events. He was so fed up with it.</p><p>Before, he could decide what to do next though, someone moved around (on legs, so not Maris) and sparked a fire in a small fireplace (on land, not underwater).</p><p>Olan or Shore Man (or both, he could name himself whatever he wanted, why not) waited a moment until his eyes had adjusted to his surroundings. He lay on a narrow bed opposite of a door that lead outside. It was a single room in nothing more than a hut. Besides the bed and the fireplace there was a table covered in dust. The rest of the hut was decorated with spider webs.</p><p>The man who had lit the fireplace turned around and gave Olan a questioning look. “How are you feeling… are you hurting a lot? Do you remember what happened to you?”</p><p>The light barely illuminated the man’s face, but still Olan could recognize that it was the straw head from the beach. The one Tristan had married. A violent cough seized him and he almost had to throw up. </p><p>Straw head rushed over to him, his brows furrowed. “I am sorry, I did what I could, but I am not a trained court physician. I only know little of the healing arts. I would get someone. Unfortunately, the storm hasn’t ceased and I think it’s too dangerous to go out there.”</p><p>“So, I got caught up in bad weather. That doesn’t surprise me any longer,” Olan said more to himself than to the straw head. </p><p>“I found you lying unconscious on the beach. I brought you here and tried to create some makeshift bandages from the bedsheet.” Straw head pursed his lips. He had a waterskin in his hands and offered it to Olan.</p><p>Olan took a large gulp before returning the waterskin. The straw head appeared to be waiting for something, probably the answers to his questions, but Olan was rather occupied with beholding Tristan’s new husband. His hair really resembled a pile of straw. Every strand of hair was sticking in a different direction. It might be due to the storm, but somehow Olan imagined that even without a stiff breeze, the straw head’s hair would look wild. </p><p>He had a set of pretty intense green eyes and Olan estimated him to be several years younger than him and Tristan, like in his mid-twenties. Olan snorted. Young and fertile. Someone who could bear an heir. But straw head was handsome indeed. Olan wondered for how long Tristan had been married to the straw head and if they had already… he shook his head. No, he didn’t want to think of that now.</p><p>There were other pressing questions on Olan’s mind. Like where did this straw head come from? He had a hint of a foreign accent. Another alliance for Zudonia. Also, the implications that followed from that, that was something to deal with later as well. Furthermore, did the straw head know who he had saved? If he knew, wouldn’t it have been in his best interest to have left Olan outside in the storm, hoping that Olan would perish there?</p><p>Thus, surely the straw head didn’t know and would be quite surprised when he found out. Olan was undecided what to do about it. To be honest, he was too bruised and exhausted for all of the questions on his mind. What if he decided to enlighten the straw head and he decided to get rid of Olan after all?</p><p>“Yes, it hurts, but I’ve been worse,” Olan remarked gruffly. “What’s your name?”</p><p>The straw head’s brows shot even higher as if he had easily seen through Olan’s lie. </p><p>“Arata,” he answered, carefully smoothing Olan’s hair out of his face and adjusting the bandage around Olan’s head. Arata also adjusted the pillow’s behind Olan’s back and fumbled with what was left of the bed sheet and covers until he seemed to be content.</p><p>Arata was dripping with water and sniffling to himself.</p><p>“If you remain in these clothes, you will catch a cold. Get rid of them and warm yourself by the fire.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about me. What’s a cold in comparison to your injuries?” Arata removed his dark green overcoat and matching tunic, but stayed in his hose. “Also, I fear we don’t have much wood left. Everything that has been outside has gotten wet and won’t be useful.” </p><p>Something fell from the pockets of Arata’s overcoat and clattered to the floor.</p><p>“Oh.” Arata’s face lit up as he reached for a tinned box. “A blessing in disguise. My family used to make fun of me that I always carry an herbal salve with me, but I was convinced that it would come in handy one day.” </p><p>Olan laughed dryly. “Not if someone is prone to injuries like I am.” </p><p>Arata pointed towards the mattress. “May I?”</p><p>Olan shrugged, then nodded. For once, he needed to concentrate on getting better, not making it worse – the sea quake, the race to the shore, the storm, he should be glad that he was still alive. But his overloaded brain had the insane notion to find Arata’s naked chest quite attractive. It was definitely his nerves, why should Olan find Tristan’s new husband attractive?</p><p>He quickly closed his eyes. But instead of calming his thoughts, Olan found himself in a sensory overload. Arata’s hands who rubbed the salve onto his body were incredibly gentle. Olan’s skin prickled as cool fingers stroked his arms, his torso, his legs. Treatment at the Mer folk village had made Olan never feel like that. He let out a moan.</p><p>“My apologies for being clumsy. I didn’t mean to hurt you. And now I’ve also dripped all over the mattress.”</p><p>“No, no, it’s alright. My wounds are my own fault for taking so many risks. But you should have taken your hose of as well.” Olan bit his tongue as soon as the words were out. </p><p>There was a hint of hesitation in Arata’s voice. “Yes, I don’t want to create puddles all over this hut. I guess it won’t matter if I sleep on the ground in wet garments and in no garments at all. My father always used to say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”</p><p>Olan grimaced. That phrase sounded like something King Caderyn of Tesperia always used to say. A harsh, unforgiving ruler dominating the islands south of Zudonia. Straw head’s name was Arata, but Olan was quite sure that Caderyn’s heir was called Cadfael. That meant if Arata was a second or third son, Olan assumed the poor lad had had difficulties living up to King Caderyn’s high expectations.</p><p>“You don’t need to sleep on the ground,” Olan blurted out. “There is enough space in this bed for the two of us.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Arata asked in disbelief. “Not that I accidentally brush against your wounds.”</p><p>“I am sure, after all you have saved my life tonight. I haven’t yet thanked you and that’s the least what I can do for you.” Olan didn’t want to appear ungrateful and he was never one to go back on his words. Though with the naked form of Tristan’s new husband barely a few centimetres away from him, Olan guessed that this would mean a long, sleepless night for him.</p><p>XVI</p><p>The fire was about to die and Arata should be glad that King Olan hadn’t insisted that Arata should sleep on the floor. Quite the contrary. However, Arata couldn’t relax which was definitely a prerequisite for him to be able to drift into the lands of slumber. He felt like his humours didn’t align anymore. Pinching himself, Arata wondered how he should face the reality of it all.</p><p>He had seen the portrait in the gallery, he had heard the courtiers talk about his predecessor, there was no doubt that the person Arata had found washed up on the beach was indeed King Olan. He hadn’t told Arata much about what had happened to him, but given that Olan was injured and Arata was a stranger to him, that didn’t surprise Arata much.</p><p>Arata understood that King Olan needed time to recover, but Arata would have loved to ask him so many more questions. Where he had been for such a long time? How had he survived the Bastard Leaves Abyss incident? What had he been doing when the storm apparently had taken him by surprise? (Had he ever seen some Mer folk?) He sighed. His questions would probably be answered in due time when Olan and Tristan were reunited. Some part of Arata wished that he would have never rescued King Olan from the storm while the greater part of Arata was ashamed of having such a base thought.</p><p>Tristan would be over the moon to see Olan alive, knowing that he had been right to trust his instincts after all. And Tristan’s happiness was all that mattered, didn’t it? Wasn’t it what Arata had wanted for the king right from the beginning on? </p><p>Though secretly he had imagined making Tristan happy in another way. Now, growing a close relation with the king would remain just wishful thinking. Arata had to indeed face the reality, no matter how harsh it was going to be for him. Would it hurt less if he thought about the consequences now? </p><p>There was no use answering this question, as his brain already proceeded to invoke images of the near future: The marriage between Tristan and him would be declared invalid, as Olan was still alive, and of course Arata and Tristan had never laid with each other. Arata would be forced to return to Tesperia.</p><p>From an outsider perspective, of course, it wasn’t Arata’s fault, but he had a lifetime of experience with his father. King Caderyn would consider the alliance between Tesperia and Zudonia broken, a shame and a disgrace caused by a son who could do little right. Arata wondered if his father was going to disinherit him, or even worse, marry him off to Prince Eysel of the Kharan Empire, who was famous for strangely having already outlived five young and fit spouses. </p><p>If there was only a mere chance that Arata could stay at the Zudonian court. If Tristan was the genuine and kind person Arata believed him to be, and as a thank you for helping Olan through the storm, maybe they would let Arata stay.</p><p>Although he hadn’t talked much to Arata so far, Arata had the impression that King Olan possessed grace as well. (It wasn’t hard to be more graceful than King Caderyn, although one should not think ill of one’s ruler, of one’s elders.) He would be surprised if Tristan loved someone who wasn’t equally as benevolent as him. No matter from which noble stock someone descended from and no matter how honourable his deed, a king was a king and he was by no means required to share his bed with anyone. </p><p>Tristan and Olan were lucky to have each other. The proximity to King Olan made Arata wonder how it would feel like to be in a loving relationship, to rest in your partner’s embrace while being held closed, receiving gentle strokes and soft kisses. Arata was hyper-aware that he wasn’t wearing anything and King Olan wasn’t dressed in much but bandages. Well, sleeping together was a mere kindness, they weren’t laying with each other. The only inappropriate thing that was happening was that Arata started to dream of things that weren’t meant for him. He was overreaching.</p><p>Well, Arata decided all he could do now was take things step by step and cherish each precious moment in Zudonia.</p><p>~</p><p>After having barely slept, Arata awoke bleary-eyed the next morning. He had slid to the middle of the slightly indented mattress, his bottom dangerously close to the lower body parts of King Olan. Blushing, he stumbled out of bed. Arata thanked the Gods that Olan remained motionless.</p><p>The fire had died down during the night and it had become rather cold in the small beach hut. At least, the sky was clear now and the winds calm. Arata’s clothes were still damp and even though it also had stopped raining, it would be uncomfortable putting them back on.</p><p>He took his tunic, then stopped mid-motion. They would walk for a while until they would reach the castle. When Arata had found Olan, he had worn nothing but some shorts made out of sea grass which had tears showing it already was past good use. He couldn’t let Olan return to Tristan, his council and his courtiers without anything to wear.</p><p>Time to grit his teeth again, Arata thought to himself before gently touching King’s Olan shoulder to wake him up. Olan quickly opened his eyes and gave Arata a smile which immediately caused Arata’s bad conscience to stir.</p><p>“Good Morning, Your Majesty,” he said. “I hope you have slept well and that you’re hurting less than yesterday.”</p><p>Olan quirked an eyebrow at Arata, but didn’t comment on Arata addressing him by his title which he for sure hadn’t done the previous evening.</p><p>“Do you feel ready to leave?” Arata motioned to his clothes. “I would have preferred to have something more suitable for you to wear, my liege. But my wet garments should be sufficient until you have returned to your chambers.”</p><p>“And what are you going to wear? Nothing?” Olan asked incredulously. There was also something on his expression that Arata had difficulties to interpret.</p><p>Arata shrugged. “It’s not as if I am someone of importance.”</p><p>Olan sat upright on the bed, propping his chin on his left hand. “Hm. I think you should wear your clothes. They probably won’t fit me anyway, so I can wrap the rest of these bed sheets around me instead.”</p><p>“Well, my trousers might be a bit long, but why not take at least my tunic and overcoat?”</p><p>“If you insist,” Olan smirked. “Let’s share the bed sheets as well.”</p><p>Arata felt his cheeks heat up, thus he moved aside, so Olan wouldn’t be able to see his face. </p><p>Finally, they were both more or less dressed. Arata was overcome with relief when he remembered that it was time for the morning prayers and people would be in church right now instead of noticing two odd looking people approaching the castle.</p><p>Besides, Arata wanted to be the one who bore the good news that Olan was alive after all these months, not some gossip mongers hurrying up to King Tristan. It would be less hard to be the centre of attention, of rumours, slander, and pity if Arata was the one to make Tristan happy again.</p><p>They actually made it to upper level of the castle without anybody stopping them. Before Olan and Arata could proceed to Olan’s chambers Arata spotted Tristan and the Earl of Onowin Island coming up the stairs. Olan rolled his eyes as he recognized the latter and hid behind a pillar. </p><p>Tristan apparently was heading towards the study while the Earl walked down towards the western corridor. Arata gave Olan a sign, indicating that Arata would verify if the coast was really clear. Obviously, they couldn’t get dressed first as their rooms where down that corridor. And besides, Arata didn’t want to prolong Tristan’s and Olan’s reunion.</p><p>Arata shortly knocked on the study’s door and then entered without waiting for an answer. Tristan gazed up, looking Arata directly into the face, a smile spreading on his lips. It seemed as if Tristan wasn’t noticing Arata’s strange attire, just that Tristan was really delighted to see him. Arata felt his heart beating faster and there was a flutter in his stomach. </p><p>Please not, he told himself, trying to swallow his emotions. This didn’t need to be harder than it already was.</p><p>“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Arata said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “I got caught up in bad weather yesterday, hence I apologize for my inappropriate appearance.”</p><p>Tristan opened his mouth to say something, but Arata simply continued before he would lose his nerves. “I would have changed, but I was lucky under these circumstances.”</p><p>He motioned for Olan to leave his hiding spot. “I brought you someone.”</p><p>Tristan’s lips started trembling and he turned white as ash as he caught sight of Olan appearing behind Arata. Tristan opened his mouth silently and closed it again as tears started to fill his eyes. Olan, his cheeks already wet, pushed past Arata and threw himself in Tristan’s arms.</p><p>Arata throat closed up and he needed to sniff as well for reasons he was unable to name. Overwhelmed with the scene unfolding, he decided to flee the study, shutting the door behind him, closing a chapter of his life. It was best to start packing his belongings now. </p><p>XVII</p><p>“I am dreaming, I must be dreaming,” Tristan repeated, clinging to man who wore the face of his Olan as if his whole being depended on it. “How? When? Is that really you?”</p><p>Olan’s dark brown hair had grown past his chin since the last time Tristan had seen him, but it was neatly trimmed. He was cleanly-shaved. The small of Olan’s back seemed to have become broader and Tristan could feel the strong muscles beneath Olan’s tunic.</p><p>But besides that, he smiled, talked and smelled like his Olan. If possible the scent of seaweed and salt Tristan liked so much about Olan had only become more intense.</p><p>Tristan’s heart threatened to burst and if he hadn’t been holding on to Olan, he was sure he would have collapsed to the floor. Olan tried wiping Tristan’s tears away with his sleeve, but it was no use, they kept falling.</p><p>“Don’t cry, my love,” Olan whispered into Tristan’s ear, his voice rough with emotion. “I am here, I am back. I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I only wanted to bring you something special, your favourite food. I thought I was invincible, but now I know I am not. Words are not enough to say how sorry I am for causing you so much pain.”</p><p>“It’s okay, I understand.” Tristan leant into Olan’s embrace, cherishing their proximity, wanting to fill the emptiness of his soul with the love and comfort he had so dearly missed all those months. “You only wanted to make my days brighter, make it easier on me to endure all the tedious council meetings, bring happiness to my daily routine. The same I always wanted to do by writing you letters to read on all of your journeys.”</p><p>Olan sighed. “I should have had more common sense. The Bastard Leaves Abyss are dangerous, even during summer. I should have thought of something else to cheer you up.”</p><p>“We can’t change what happened. Though, what occurred afterwards? How did you survive these unbelievable high waves? I have never seen a storm like that. I had several men scouting the beaches, fishers scanning the less dangerous parts of the Endless Sea, words sent out to our allies, but nobody ever claimed having seen or heard of you. Finally, everybody insisted that you were dead, Olan, but my feelings insisted you weren’t.”</p><p>“Can you make sure we are not disturbed?” Tristan nodded and after he had informed a guard, Olan continued. “Maybe it’s best you sit down. It’s hard to believe, and honestly, sometimes I myself doubt what I’ve experienced.”</p><p>Tristan skeptically eyed the armchair. There was not enough room for two, and he was reluctant to let go of Olan. He went to sit down on a trunk instead and pulled Olan with him, so Tristan could rest his head on Olan’s shoulder. Olan put an arm around him, gently stroking Tristan’s side. Tristan’s gaze fell on the Tesperian folk tales which lay open on the desk, wondering what Olan was about to tell him.</p><p>“I was saved by an elderly female named Maris,” Olan was still hesitating, flexing the fingers of his free hand. Tristan noticed that there were some strange webs growing between them.</p><p>Without a warning, Olan blurted out: “She is the leader of the Mer folk community. Will my head now be thoroughly checked by the court physician, will I be sent to the asylum on the Outer Bedrock Chains?” He paused, waiting for Tristan’s reaction.</p><p>Tristan took Olan’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “I should be stunned, shouldn’t I be? In a way I am, but also in a way I am not. Yes, I think you should be checked by our court physician because I see there are some makeshift bandages on your legs. I also reckon Frederick will be the one who will be suggesting that you are an impostor or a mental case, but not me.”</p><p> “Wait, until you hear the whole story,” Olan snorted and began giving an account of how he had been nursed by Maris, Tari and the rest of the Mer folk, how he had been hurting so much that he was unable to remember much of his past and therefore couldn’t return to Tristan as soon as possible and how he and Maris had started on his journey to regain his identity.</p><p>When Olan was finished, Tristan pecked a kiss on Olan’s cheek. “I love you, I believe you, I have no reasons to doubt you.” He pointed to the tome. “Tesperian folk tales of the Lost and Found: Mer people myth and Sailor’s sorrow. I recently read it. You have always been the sensible one, I have always been the one with my head in the clouds. That’s why father saw the ideal match in you for me. Anyway, if there’s one person in the whole kingdom who is going to believe you, it’s me.”</p><p>Olan laughed quietly. The next minute though, a serious expression took over his face. “Whose idea was it then to marry you to that straw head?”</p><p>Tristan gulped. In his delirium of joy, he had almost forgotten about Arata. But then, it hadn’t been his fault. </p><p>“Guess who?” He remarked dryly. “I didn’t want to. I refused. He didn’t want to shut up about Zudonia needing an heir. Three months ago, he caught me in a weak moment. I am sorry, Olan, I should have resisted Frederick’s demands for a bit longer.”</p><p>“The meddlesome Earl of Onowin Island. Marrying you to a son of King Caderyn? I will have fun making Frederick’s life much more difficult.” Olan’s mouth turned into a devilish grin.</p><p>“What about Arata?” Tristan asked, pensive. “I assure you we didn’t lay together. Even though I knew what was expected of me, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It would have felt like cheating on you.”</p><p>Olan shrugged. “At first, I was quite mad when I saw you out there with him. But I suppose in the end I wouldn’t have blamed you even if you had laid with him. He’s quite handsome.”</p><p>“Olan!” Tristan exclaimed and let go of his husband’s hand.</p><p>“I am not going to lie. I would have probably laid with him, not probably, very likely.” Olan winked at Tristan. “Nevertheless, you know me. I would never defile the sanctity of our marriage vows.”</p><p>Olan turned around to face Tristan, pulling Tristan close, kissing him deeply. He buried both of his hands into Tristan’s short hair as Tristan’s tongue eagerly met Olan’s. Tristan let out a low moan and would have ripped Olan’s tunic from his body if there hadn’t been a knock on the door.</p><p>“Your Majesties, I know you are both in there. Nothing at court remains hidden from me.” Damn, it was Frederick, interfering as usual. </p><p>Tristan sighed. “I predict we will have a council meeting that’s going to last an eternity. I wish we could skip that and everybody would be simply content that you are back here.”</p><p>“They are not my idea of enjoyment either. But together, it will be easier.” Olan scratched his chin. “Besides, we need to protect Arata. After all, he saved my life, although he clearly was aware of who I was and what consequences would await him if I returned.”</p><p>“You are right, and I am glad that you as well think that we need to shield Arata from the wrath of his father. King Caderyn is terrible. Arata doesn’t deserve to be punished for doing what he considered was the right thing to do. He’s so much unlike his father. Arata gifted me that book as you can I guess. We talked about Mer folk and it gave me courage and strength to continue to believe in you being alive.”</p><p>Olan stood up, offering his arm to Tristan. “That’s very kind of Arata. Then, let’s see what we can do for him.”</p><p>XVIII</p><p>It was growing dark again, and even though the days had become shorter, Arata had the impression that eternity was going to be stretched out in front of him. First, it had taken him ages to stuff all of his possessions into his travelling chest – although he didn’t own that many garments and books. Then, the rest of the hours he had spent sitting on the chest, brooding.</p><p>By now, all the council members, all the nobles should have caught wind of the fact that King Olan had returned. Rumours and gossip spread fast as it was with every royal court.</p><p>Despite it being autumn, the air was hot and stuffy inside his room. It would be useless to open a window though; the handle was as broken as he felt. </p><p>Arata needed to go outside, breathe, but he didn’t want to talk to a single soul. It would be bad enough when they would put him back on a ship bound for Tesperia. </p><p>Hopefully, people would go to sleep very soon. With his luck though, the excitement of the news would keep them awake. Maybe he could try to sneak down to the basement. Nobody liked basements and as the Endless Sea’s powerful waves had created a cave beneath the castle, Arata would be able to catch some fresh air.</p><p>As soon as the voices outside of his room had completely died down, Arata made his way downstairs. He took a torch from its holder as he entered the cave when he suddenly heard a deep voice singing a song in a language totally foreign to him. </p><p>Arata spoke as many as seven foreign languages, but he was unable to make out a single word. Not one of them sounded familiar to him – it was as if the tones were out of this world. They were eerily beautiful, enchanting, catching him in a trance that made him step closer and closer to the edge of the sea cave. The urge to find the source of the song was overwhelming, the tune was not only in his ears, it filled his head, drowned his heart beat, pulsed in his soul, he simply wanted to revel in it.</p><p>Finally, the fire light of the torch showed Arata the back of a broad-shouldered man with dark chestnut hair dressed in a beautiful aquamarine tunic. Upon hearing Arata approach, the man whirled around and abruptly stopped singing.</p><p>Arata almost collapsed to the ground as the outlandish magic of the music released him.</p><p>“I am sorry, if I had known you were here, I wouldn’t have done this.” King Olan shot him an honest apologetically gaze. He took a step forward to steady Arata. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“I am not sure.” Arata hesitantly touched his ears which continued to feel overly sensitive. “May I ask, what that was, Your Majesty?”</p><p>Olan nodded, motioning for Arata to sit on the stone next to him. “As descendant of Sæwine you are pretty familiar with Mer folk myth, right? I mean, you Tesperians have all these tales about sea creatures, and you gave one of those books to Tristan.”</p><p>“It is a Mer person’s song.” Arata made eyes as big as saucers at Olan. He wondered if he had been born a peasant whether his life would have run a different, quieter course. He presumed that then he wouldn’t had so many mixed feelings in three days. “The Mer folk taught it to you. When you lived with them.”</p><p>“Yes. I already told my story to Tristan and well, to the council. The latter were having a field day with me. I suppose there will be several more council meetings with lots of questions until they will start believing me.” Olan shrugged as if he couldn’t care less. </p><p>Then he smiled at Arata. “I don’t mind telling my story a third time. You saved my life after I did something rather stupid, and I am really grateful for it.”</p><p>“It was nothing, anyone would have done that,” Arata waved his hands in dismissal. Still, he eagerly listed to King Olan’s experience with the Mer folk, his fascination growing more and more as Olan progressed telling him his story.</p><p>When King Olan had ended, Arata’s head was about to explode with curiosity. “You should absolutely write that down, Your Majesty. It’s such an incredible and amazing thing that has been unheard of for decades. I have so many more questions, but I don’t want to bother you, Your Majesty.”</p><p>Arata was torn between avoiding the  matter of what was to become of him and pestering Olan to tell him more about Mer folk society. He loved books more than anything else in this world. He just feared if he wanted to know too much, King Olan would stop him and point out that Arata was no longer a member of the Zudonian court. </p><p>Strangely, it was as if King Olan was reading Arata’s mind, for he softly touched Arata’s arm. The gesture was strangely comforting, the fingers – that had webs growing in between each of them – incredibly warm. </p><p>“The only thing which is bothering me is you calling me, Your Majesty. There is no need for that. Simply call me Olan. And you can ask me as many questions as you like. It was a good life with Maris, her family and the rest of the Mer folk community, but still even though I couldn’t remember much, I was homesick.” Olan frowned. “And now that I am back home, of course, I want to talk things over. Tristan understands, but having two people truly listening to you is always better than one.”</p><p>“Olan,” Arata said as if testing how Olan’s name sounded spoken out aloud. It wouldn’t matter much how he addressed the king as Arata assumed he would depart tomorrow. So at least he should indulge in the fact that he could ask about all the matters which laid most heavily on his mind. </p><p>He chewed on his bottom lip wondering what he should ask first when suddenly an idea hit him. Absurd or not, this would probably be the best solution for everyone. “Did you meet another human being while living with the Mer folk? If not, did ever live humans with them before? How hard was it to learn to breathe with the sea? How did you feel about having to swim all the time? When did you start growing webs?”</p><p>“No, I didn’t meet anybody else who was human.” Olan cocked his head, pondering the questions Arata had fired at him. “Well, Mer folk, of course, have their own myths about humans. Nobody could account for humans having lived with Mer folk; same as humans not being able to proof that they have seen mermaids or mermen. But there are always lots of tales and truth and fiction are bound to get blurred over centuries.”</p><p>“I guess that makes sense. People will usually demand proof that something exists, but if the Mer folk doesn’t want to show themselves to humans, there is nothing you can probably do about it. In the Tesperian folk tales there were also records by authors who claimed mermaids were evil and I bet the same applies to Mer folk myth.” </p><p>Arata just couldn’t keep the enthusiasms out of his voice. For the moment, he could forget about the past and the future to come, all that mattered was discussing history and folk tales with a good conversation partner. Unbeknownst to him, he leant closer to Olan.</p><p>Olan’s hand wandered from Arata’s arm to Arata’s hair, trying to rearrange the sticky strands while he continued to talk. “Breathing with the sea, that’s incredibly difficult to learn. I panicked so much in the beginning, I thought all that masses of water would crush my lungs, suffocate me to a slow death. It takes an incredible amount of patience and dedication. Maris was willing to try and teach me, bless her, although it was an experiment for her as well. All I knew was that I didn’t want to die yet, that there was something – someone – out there waiting for me.”</p><p>For a moment, Arata was speechless. His heart melted at the thought that love was such a strong emotion that even if the rest of your memory was lost it was there, holding you close, keeping you alive. </p><p>“That’s so kind of Maris,” he finally said. “It seems to me that the Mer folk were very good to you, to welcome a stranger to their community, show them the way of their life without knowing anything about them, believing you that you had amnesia and not ill-intentions instead, that is no less of a deed.”</p><p>“Well, they were indeed compassionate and supported me in all ways possible, but their help wasn’t for free. I had to work to contribute my share to the community. I was a seaweed farmer,” Olan grinned. “I mean, being a ship’s captain is also hard work, though probably is still more esteemed than being a farmer. I reckon some of the courtiers will be really appalled when the word gets out.”</p><p>“But you didn’t mind,” Arata assessed. “Well, I am mostly keeping this opinion to myself. However, I can tell you now that I think there are some low-born people out there whose behaviour are definitely more decent and closer to the code of chivalry than some of the nobles I’ve met.”</p><p>To Arata’s regret, Olan was done with rearranging his hair. Olan’s finger tips had felt so nice against Arata’s scalp, he had to resist the urge to ask Olan to carry on. Arata only allowed himself an inward sigh. First, Tristan’s sweetness had caused an upheaval of unexpected feelings, and now this.</p><p>“I am glad you share my opinion, Arata. To answer the rest of your questions, having to swim all the time was exhausting in the beginning, but same as with the breathing, I’ve gotten used to it over the time. I am not sure when I started growing the webs. I didn’t notice right away, they were probably quite tiny at the start and now that I am back on the shore, I sadly think they will disappear again.”</p><p>“But don’t you wish to return to the Mer folk village to see them all again?” Arata inquired, his legs twitching more and more, being aware that he yet had to ask Olan the most important question of them all.</p><p>Olan bit his lip, for the first time looking a bit worried since Arata had gotten to know him. “When you came here, I was about to call Maris. Remember, I went behind her back and raced to the Zudonian shore without telling her. She also took a risk in helping me find my identity, and I simply abandoned her. I need to apologize to Maris, and then I guess I will see how it goes from there.”</p><p>“I hope it’s not too much to ask for, but I have thought of a solution for… for… I will call it dilemma for a lack of better words. Whatever you, Tristan and the council might have planned for me… well, maybe you hadn’t had yet the chance to discuss my fate,” Arata stammered, breathing hard, hating himself for not coming straight to the matter.</p><p>“I am not angry at you, not anymore, that you married, Tristan.” Olan squeezed Arata’s hand. “It’s not your fault. We will find a solution that benefits everyone, don’t you worry.</p><p>“But I have already one,” Arata objected, holding onto Olan’s hand like a man about to drown. “As I said if it’s not too much to ask for, could you please talk to Maris and vouch for me to take your place in the Mer folk community? I promise, I won’t be a burden, I am a fast learner and I will be an equally hard worker. This way, Tristan simply can tell my father that I died in a storm, there will be no shame and loss of face involved and you two can live your happily ever after.”</p><p>XIX</p><p>He rolled around, hands reaching out, legs stretched to each side, but there was nothing, no one. He struggled some more, desperately searching for another sign of life. Yet, all he found was an empty void, lonely and cold. Had it all been a dream, a row of images of his wishful thinking that his husband was back? He opened his eyes and realized it didn’t matter if they were open or closed, everything was so dark around him. He shivered beneath his thin blanket.</p><p>Perhaps, he should find something warmer to wear, check upon a fireplace or get another blanket. If he hadn’t been to paralysed to do all that. He should try concentrating on calming his breath, maybe this way he could drift off and escape this emptiness.</p><p>There, there, he was, his Olan, standing atop the battlements above a gorge. Olan waved at him, then took a step backwards and tripped. He wanted to grasp one of Olan’s leg, but it was too late. Olan screamed, and he screamed, the gorge mockingly echoing their cries of despair. There was a sudden knocking to his head. It didn’t stop when he grasped his temples, frantically massaging them.</p><p>“Please,” he moaned.</p><p>Then, something flickered in the darkness, dazzling him.</p><p>“Your Majesty? Your Majesty?” someone inquired softly. “Are you alright? What’s the matter?”</p><p>“Arata? Is that you?” he tentatively asked, feeling slightly relieved to recognize a familiar voice.</p><p>“Yes, my liege. I heard your outcry and was worried that something happened to you.” Arata stepped forward, setting the candle he was carrying on the nightstand next to Tristan’s bed.</p><p>Tristan fought to get rid of the haze that had him so firmly trapped. “I can’t really say what exactly took place. I failed in an attempt to save Olan, he just dropped down the battlements and I couldn’t hold on to him. But I suppose this was simply another of my nightmares about losing Olan.”</p><p>“Don’t you worry, my liege. I saw His Majesty half an hour ago. He was in the cavern below the castle. He told me he was about to have a talk with Maris.” Arata ran his fingers through his hair. “Is there something I can do for you, my liege? Shall I fetch His Majesty? Oh, there he is, already. I guess, I shall take my leave.”</p><p>Tristan felt like a weight was taken off his mind when he saw Olan standing in the door frame, arms and legs crossed. He sent Tristan a gaze full of affection which made Tristan’s heart melt and finally blew away the remnants of Tristan’s anxiety. </p><p>Then, Olan turned his attention towards Arata. “Thanks for looking after Tristan. But, what did I tell you about calling me by name? And the same applies for Tristan. There is no need to call us by our titles, even if you weren’t royalty yourself.”</p><p>“Father always insisted that I’d address him and my brothers by their titles. So, I am not used to it.” Arata twiddled his thumbs. “Did you talk to Maris, Olan? How did it go?”</p><p>“It did go well, she was a bit mad at me, but at the same time she was glad that I regained my identity and found my home again. I can visit the Mer folk community whenever I want.” Olan rubbed his chin. “Unfortunately, Maris can’t allow any strangers to come by or live with them without discussing it with the whole community. I reckon, they need to reframe themselves how they want to deal with human relationship in general.”</p><p>Tristan saw Arata’s knees buckling, so he bent forward and pulled Arata to sit down on the bed with him. Arata’s whole body was stiff and cold. Tristan readjusted the blanket to cover Arata’s legs. “You wanted to leave us and go live with the Mer folk?”</p><p>Arata mouthed a silent yes, his disappointment leaving him speechless. He didn’t stir when Tristan took him in his arms. Tristan rolled his eyes at Olan and said with a slight reproach in his voice: “When Arata asked you about living with Maris, why didn’t you tell him that he still will be living with us? I mean, it’s obvious that his thoughts are circling around the consequences of your return. In Arata’s place, I would be worried, too, about having to face… well, you know.”</p><p>Tristan didn’t want to badmouth King Caderyn in Arata’s presence, but Olan understood him anyway. Olan stepped closer, removed his shoes and sat down on the other side of the bed.</p><p>“I didn’t want to get Arata’s hopes too high, in case the council would put a veto in. So, I didn’t think it would do any harm if I forwarded Arata’s request to Maris. Sometimes sadly all we can do is to be patient and wait.”</p><p>“Pah, to the seven hells with waiting, patience and the council.” Arata jerked his head in surprise when he heard Tristan curse so freely, but Tristan was glad it got at least a reaction out of Arata. “It was Frederick’s idea to get me married to Arata, the council nodded like puppets on a string, so if I wish to have two husbands now, they have to deal with it. Especially, if my first husband is fine with it as well.”</p><p>“But why should you be fine with sharing Tristan with me, Olan?” Arata blurted out. “I..I… Tristan was yours and yours only… I don’t understand. You two don’t have to do this to be nice to me. Saving someone’s life should be a matter of course. I honestly don’t need a reward.” Arata sat upright and straightened his back. “You don’t need to pity me either because of my father. I have lived with him my whole life. I can deal with him if the Mer folk decide to not have me live with them.”</p><p>“Oh, you sweet fool.” Olan laughed and robbed closer to where Arata and Tristan were sitting.</p><p>Arata was about to get up from the bed, but came to an abrupt halt. He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” </p><p>“Don’t pay any attention to Olan’s choice of words. He doesn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Quite the contrary.” Tristan leant against the headboard. His muscles started to relax as he anticipated things falling into place once more. “Let me explain it to you and then, of course, you can still decide what you would like to do next.”</p><p>“Alright.” Arata played absentmindedly with a corner of the blanket. Tristan had the impression that Arata was willing to listen, though he probably was getting more and more confused with the minute. Well, Tristan couldn’t blame him.</p><p>“I know the last few days have been quite eventful for us all, and I can’t deny them causing a lot of inner turmoil. If one is hard-headed, what I am going to say might sound too far fetched, but we are not always masters of our emotions.” Tristan rested his left hand on his chest. “I like you a lot, Arata, you are one of the most kind-hearted, selfless and caring persons I’ve ever met. I am sure without Olan’s return, I would have started crushing on you. But in fact, if that’s even possible, having Olan back, just speeded up my feelings for you. Olan made me realize that.”</p><p>Arata intensely regarded the blue-black checked pattern on one of the cushions. “I like you, too, Tristan, as a person I mean, not as a king. Nevertheless, where does that leave Olan?”</p><p>“Feelings don’t have to make sense nor do they need to be mutually exclusive.” Olan carefully laid his index finger on Arata’s chin, locking eyes with him. </p><p>“Out of the two of us,” Olan pointed towards himself and Tristan, “I am the more blunt, outgoing one. Before I got married to this special soul, I had a small reputation of being unsteady and not committed enough for relationships besides ones that were made out of wood and had at least three masts. It was because I was too afraid to look at my emotions, but Tristan taught me how to be self-aware and content at the same time. Now, I won’t only utter a lot of big words, I am not going to waste them and with that any moment, I will come straight to the point.”</p><p>Tristan laughed and nudged Olan’s side playfully. “Yet, here he is, rambling. Arata, Olan not only shares my opinion of you, he also thinks you are handsome. Haven’t you noticed how he’s been eyeing you already?”</p><p>“Hmm, I noticed that Olan kept sending me strange looks, but I thought that was because he was not happy with me being your new husband, Tristan.” Arata gazed at Tristan, then at Olan and back at Tristan again.</p><p>Olan clucked his tongue. “I met you first, Arata, before having my reunion with Tristan, and it’s bit unsettling to find the person who replaced you attractive and sweet. But when I talked things with Tristan over, I saw my own feelings towards you reflected much stronger in Tristan. We both realized that it is okay to feel that way. But, if you don’t feel the same about either one of us, this is perfectly valid, too. As Tristan said, you decide what comes next, and if I shall vouch for you once more, so you can live with Maris and her people, I will do so.”</p><p>Arata didn’t say anything for a while, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. He shoved a cushion under his armpit to support himself. “Theoretically, if I am going to stay, what will you do about the Earl of Onowin Island, and the rest of the council? I guess, the Earl is not interested in any discussions about emotions.”</p><p>“I know exactly what makes my chancellor tick. Double the number of husbands, double the chance for an heir. Besides, I need a new steward since Halvard asked me to sanction his retirement. You are a well-learnt man, Arata, and I think this position would suit you well.” Tristan motioned towards the Tesperian Tales that he had deposited on his nightstand for some quality reading time before he had gone to sleep. “Besides, Olan needs someone to write down his experience.”</p><p>“I bet you can convey that better into the written word than I can do, Arata. Anyway,” Olan stifled a yawn, “it’s getting late. I understand if this all has been too much for you to process in one late evening and you need to sleep on your decision. You can stay here with us or sleep in your own bed, as you like.”</p><p>XX</p><p>It had been four days and four nights since Olan and Tristan had proposed Arata to continue being their husband and become their steward on their council. Arata had tried both sleeping alone in his and sleeping together with Olan and Tristan in their conjugal bed. He hadn’t been sleeping well in either of them. He was tired by the day, but there were too many thoughts that kept him awake when the sun had set. Arata was aware that he soon had to make a final decision. The court’s gossip-mongers were already on fire and it was only so long until word would leave Zudonia and travel to Tesperia.</p><p>Honestly, Arata himself wished he would stop hesitating. There was no word from Maris yet, but this wasn’t his issue. He also was pretty confident that he would make a good steward. He had met with Halvard, the Earl of the Harcastle Peninsula, to discuss what tasks were upcoming and they had gone together over the ledgers. Arata had enjoyed it, his mind having already created several ideas on how to improve housekeeping.</p><p>Staying in Zudonia would also mean independence from his overbearing father. If he was being rational, Arata was able to acknowledge his skills and abilities – even Cadfael had told him on the quiet that their father was too harsh on Arata. Sometimes, the problem was just that Arata’s  feelings didn’t always like to follow the path of logic. </p><p>So, why didn’t he immediately step away from his boundaries when he had the chance now? It was like a bird whose cage door was suddenly open, albeit the bird remained in his cage because the cage felt familiar and freedom didn’t. Stupid.</p><p>Arata simply had to jump and then spread his wings. He didn’t doubt anything that Tristan or Olan had told him on the first night after Tristan’s bad dream. Every moment Arata observed Tristan and Arata together, their actions underlined their genuine character, how real and sincere they were, especially in dealing with each other.  </p><p>There was Tristan holdings hands with Olan below the council table when Arata passed by to meet with Earl Halvard. There was Olan brushing Tristan’s hair, refusing to let Tristan’s valet do it before an important meeting with an ambassador from the Western Mountain Kingdom. And there were Tristan and Olan sneaking into the pantry, feeding each other with sweet pastries that were meant for the reception of said ambassador, like little rascals.</p><p>It conjured a smile on Arata’s face and left him with a fuzzy feeling inside. All these small moments made him forget his broodings in that instant. Instead, it felt like stepping in front of the fireside after a long, hard day outside in the cold.</p><p>Also, Olan and Tristan always seemed to know that Arata was watching them: a wink by Olan, an almost unnoticeable nod of the head from Tristan and a pastry slipped into Arata’s hand when he descended the stairs.</p><p>As he bit into the fried fig pastry, Arata sensed a new-found resolve rising up inside of him. The words had been spoken, the signs were loud and clear, the door was open to a cosy place full of warmth.</p><p>He remembered that before any banquets his father used to take a bath in the bathhouse. Perhaps, Arata would find one of his husbands there as he had lost sight of them due to being preoccupied. </p><p>The royal bathhouse was located on the castle’s first floor in the eastern wing. When Arata opened the door, he was being greeted by a large cloud of hot steam. So, he had been right and the servants had already filled the large wooden tub a while ago. Arata was unable to recognize who sat in the tub, but having discovered his courage, he removed his clothes and slipped into the scorching water. </p><p>When the steam drifted further away, Arata found himself face-to-face with Olan. He slid closer and as a reaction Olan easily wrapped his arm around Arata.</p><p>“Ah, Arata, it’s good to see you here.”</p><p>“I thought it might be of advantage if I have a bath before tonight’s reception with ambassador Ranulf. I don’t want to be a bad representation of Zudonia.” Arata rested his head on Olan’s shoulder.</p><p>Olan raised an eyebrow, then a soft smile sneaked upon his lips. “I’d say your hair needs a good wash. If you trust me, close your eyes and let me take care of that.”</p><p>Arata did as he was asked, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as he eagerly awaited Olan’s next move. He sensed Olan shifting about and without prior warning, a squall of bath water was poured over his head. Before Arata had the chance to make a surprised noise, Olan was sitting behind Arata, having his legs wrapped around him and gently pulling Arata’s head backwards.</p><p>With his left hand Olan supported Arata’s neck, his fingers stroking the delicate skin while his right hand massage some liquid into Arata’s yet to be tamed mass of wavy strands. The tangy wooden fragrance of grey amber mixed with a whiff of dark Moschus subtly mingled into the air before it was covered with an intense odour of northern star rose. </p><p>Arata inhaled appreciatively; the northern star rose was one of the flowers that grew in Zudonia, not minding the cooler temperatures of the kingdom.</p><p>If the odour alone was tantalising, Arata didn’t know what to call Olan’s fingertips. They first started gliding over Arata’s mane, teasing a sensitive sport here and there. Arata bit his tongue, but as Olan wound his fingers deeper inside the thick tresses, playfully tugging at them, a low moan escaped Arata. He felt a sudden heat rush between his legs that no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to suppress it. Olan’s fingers massaging his scalp were just too intense, Arata had never known how susceptible to touch he would be there.</p><p>He was hyper aware of his cock floating hard-and-heavy in the water when out of the blue someone caught his dick in their palm. For a moment, Arata was confused, though when he tried to peek through his lashes, another palm covered his eyes. If Olan’s fingers where on his neck and in his hair, how could there be hands caressing his face and his cock?</p><p>“Don’t,” a hoarse, strangely familiar voice whispered into Arata’s ear. “Relax.”</p><p>Relax, he didn’t know what relaxation meant as a thumb caressed his tip, then continued to stroke the length of his dick before grasping his balls.</p><p>“Tristan?” Arata coughed, wanting to say more, but was shut up when his head was twisted slightly to the side and a rough tongue slipped into his mouth. His muscles trembled as an unstoppable tension started to rise inside him. The foreign tongue with the flavour of tart Bastard Leaves pushed Arata’s own tongue down, then slowly explored every corner of his mouth, sensually licking every spot.</p><p>Arata wanted to breathe, to beg, but there was no air, no room to utter Olan’s or Tristan’s name. Someone nibbled on Arata’s ear, his short hair (Tristan?) tickling Arata’s skin as Tristan took Arata’s lobe between his teeth. Meanwhile, the large hand on his cock increased its speed, making Arata pant hard. He blindly thrashed his arms until he found the rim of the bathtub to cling onto.</p><p>Olan’s tongue finally left Arata’s mouth to leave a trail of hot searing kisses down Arata’s neck to his collarbone. Arata gasped for air, then the fingers on his eyelids wandered down to outline Arata’s lips, tapping them lightly. He took the hint and began sucking on Tristan’s fingers, indulging in their honeyed taste, a stark contrast to the tangy taste of Olan’s tongue.</p><p>Again, Arata wanted to open his eyes, but as he twitched only a little, the hand on his head yanked his hair until Arata obediently kept his eyelids shut. Meanwhile, there were webbed fingers pinching his backside until Arata carefully lifted his arse. He shook with anticipation as they discovered the rim of his hole, tormenting him by ever-so-slowly poking his entrance.</p><p>Impatiently, Arata wriggled his butt until he was rewarded with one, two, three fingers stretching him. By now, he didn’t even want to open his eyes any longer. All Arata saw, was flashes of light against darkness. He whimpered, not knowing where to focus his attention, torn between his dick throbbing against Tristan’s palm and wondering about Olan’s next move.</p><p>The tension felt more and more unbearable. Yet, it didn’t want to let go of Arata. He couldn’t differentiate any longer between left and right, top and bottom. He would have tried to free himself, but then Arata was aware that his husbands would never easily free him from this sweet hell. He bit down hard on the thump in his mouth as one of the webbed fingers in his hole grazed his prostate.</p><p>There was no outcry coming from Tristan, only an amused chuckle from Olan. Arata could barely hear a sound but his own heavy breathing. It was so loud he feared all the courtiers inside the castle would be able to listen in. He was glad for Tristan’s thumb, who knows what other noises would come from him. </p><p>For a moment, Olan’s fingers remained still for what felt an eternity to Arata. He wanted to weep for he thought there was no way to endure this ride on the edge any longer. Finally, finally Olan pushed deeper, pressing and rubbing Arata’s prostate. His cock swelled, blood rushing through his veins, he felt the tension explode, his head all dizzy as his come gushed from his tip. Arata opened his mouth to let out an incoherent stream of moans and screams. One strong arm held Arata against a broad chest as he tossed and turned his head while suffering wave after wave of lust rolling over him.</p><p>At last, when Arata believed his body was about to fall apart, the waves became small ripples fading away until all that left was an unbelievable sense of relaxation and well-being. Contently, Arata snuggled against Olan’s chest. He probably would have fallen asleep if there hadn’t been a soft kiss to his eyes, his nose, the vibrations tickling Arata’s face.</p><p>“Hey, don’t doze off in the tub, straw head. I don’t want you to drown.”</p><p>“Ah Olan, I don’t think you would let him drown anyway.” Tristan’s laughter was crystal clear. When Arata eventually pried his eyes open, Tristan gazed at him lovingly.</p><p>“I hope you enjoyed yourself. Next time, you can take over if you like.” Tristan brushed some foam away from Arata’s brows.</p><p>Still dazed, Arata took Tristan’s hand, holding onto it. “Very much. But what about you guys?”</p><p>Olan began rinsing Arata’s hair. “Don’t give me that anticipation is the greatest pleasure idiocy, Tristan. I would have you right here and now if we didn’t have to entertain that stupid ambassador. No way, we are going to serve the Bastard Leaves Maris gifted to me.”</p><p>Tristan snorted. “Don’t you want to hear about Arata’s fantasies on the way to the banquet?” </p><p>Arata couldn’t help but blushed. The next moment however he threw all caution into the wind and spoke his mind. “I would love to see Olan all tied up to bed, losing his control, watching him writhe as Tristan takes him.”</p><p>“Really?” Olan sticked out his tongue. “And what if I start singing a mermaid’s song?”</p><p>Tristan poked Olan into his side. “Don’t you get sassy on me. I have Arata on my side now. We will gag you just in case.”</p><p>Arata giggled at their banter, splashing both his husbands with water. </p><p>Later, the three of them entered the Great Hall, kind of exhausted, but happy. Tristan and Olan linked their arms with Arata’s as they approached the banquet table to welcome their guest. </p><p>Arata’s jaw dropped almost to the floor when he saw a new coat of arms decorating the length of the wall.</p><p>The blue and silvery wavy shield supported by two whales and the green and gold escutcheon with the castle on the cliff were joined by a Rondache parted in gold and blue showing a Mer person sunbathing on a rock. </p><p><em>Ocean lungs, Earthen heart touched by Summer sea wind</em>s it said below the coat of arms.</p><p>At last, Arata had found a home for his heart, Olan’s memory of love had him led back to his home and Tristan’s home was filled once more with joy and affection. Arata was quite certain that soon the sweet cries of a newborn would echo from the castle walls.</p>
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